Precious Things
by Jennifer Lee
Summary: Story is complete!! BE SURE TO READ THE NOTE AT THE END OF 12 BEFORE CONTINUING!. The O'Connells return to Egypt, and learn that the most precious things aren't always things. This is a sequel to "The Puzzle Box."
1. Hannah and a Family Dinner

"Precious Things" by Jennifer Lee

"Precious Things" by Jennifer Lee

Disclaimer: What do I own? Eight "The Mummy Returns" ticket stubs. "The Mummy: Ultimate Edition" on DVD. The novelizations, and a slew of TMR trading cards. And Margaret Crane, and various cameo appearance-type people. That's about it, really.

Summary: The O'Connells return to Egypt, and various discoveries are made, including what things are truly precious. (This summary subject to change when I come up with a better one.) This is a sequel to "The Puzzle Box."

Note: God, I can't believe I'm doing this. I don't write a lot of fanfic, and I've never written a sequel. I originally conceived of "The Puzzle Box" as an "Ardeth gets a girl" story, but it quickly became a story about family instead. I thought the story was over, but I got a lot of requests for a sequel, plus I realized I missed writing about Margaret. So this is for everyone who wrote requesting I continue the story. It's very much a work in progress. I don't yet know the ending, so I guess we'll all find out together. Special thanks to Rebecca, my newest best friend, for being a great beta reader and for kicking me in the butt when I really needed it. 

Thanks for reading. I hope you like it.

-jen

****

Chapter One

Evelyn put down the silver letter opener and reached into the large envelope. She pulled out a folded letter and something that looked like a catalog. She glanced briefly at the catalog, dropped it on the desk and picked up the letter, scanning it quickly. Then she read it again a little more slowly. Her forehead creased in a frown as she read it once more.

"Oh, dear," she muttered. Rick wasn't going to like this at all. 

"Mother!"

She put down the letter, smiling at the sound of her son's voice. Alex was twelve, too old to call her "Mum" like his little sister did, but still young enough to shout for her from down the hallway. A few moments later the boy himself appeared in the doorway, and Evelyn had to work to not let the surprise show on her face. It seemed that every single day he got a little taller; he definitely got his height from Rick.

"Alex," she said, gesturing him inside the office. He closed the door behind him and threw himself into the chair on the other side of her desk. "I run this Museum, and therefore some people around here look at me with a modicum of respect. So please, do try and remember not to shout at me from the other end of the building, hmm?"

Alex tried to look ashamed, but the twinkle in his mother's eyes and her half-hidden smile told him that her scolding wasn't genuine. "Sorry."

Evelyn looked down at her desk, giving up the attempt to hide her smile. "Never mind. You and I spend so much time here that I suppose it's like a second home to us, isn't it? Are you nearly ready to go home? To our real one?"

Alex nodded, getting to his feet. "Yeah. I was watching them set up the Grecian exhibit, but..." he shrugged. Evelyn almost laughed. 

"Now, Alex" she chided. "The place is called 'The British Museum.' Not 'The Exclusively Egyptian Artifacts Museum.' There are other periods in history that deserve our attention as well, you know."

He shrugged. "I suppose so. But the rest of it is so boring!"

Evelyn did laugh now. "Well, then perhaps it is a good thing that I'm the curator here and not you, yes?" She stood, gathering together papers that she wanted to take home with her. She slid the letter back into the large envelope, and reached for the catalog that had come with it.

But Alex had already picked it up. "What is this?" he asked, leafing through its pages. 

She took it back and put it in the envelope with the letter. "Something I need to discuss with your father," she replied.

****

She didn't look for Rick right away when she arrived home. Alex ran inside the house as soon as they arrived, but the day was fine, so the first thing Evelyn did was walk around the back of the house to the garden. She could almost always find them in the garden on sunny afternoons.

"Mummy!" She had hardly rounded the corner before she heard her daughter's voice. A few seconds later, a pair of tiny arms threw themselves around her knees. She laughed and bent down to scoop her up into her arms.

"How was your day, Hannah?" she asked her little girl but, Hannah being only two, she lacked the conversational skills to properly answer the question. Evelyn looked over her daughter's shoulder, to the woman sitting on the wrought-iron bench.

Margaret smiled. "Very exciting," she replied. "We spent the afternoon outside, getting some sun. Hannah's been trying to make friends with the butterflies, but they keep flying away from her. She was most put out by that."

"I can well imagine," Evelyn replied with a similar smile, looking back to her daughter, who seemed to be telling the same story, just not in English. Her little arms waved, as if she would fly herself. Evelyn laughed again and turned her attention back to Margaret.

"Have I told you lately how grateful I am that you are here?"

Margaret raised an eyebrow. "Today? I don't think so. But there's still time." The woman they all thought of as Rick's younger sister had arrived in London just over two years ago, just days before Hannah was born. She had slid very neatly into the role of unofficial governess to the O'Connell children. Evelyn had originally decided not to go back to the Museum after her daughter was born, but the Bembridge Scholars had outdone themselves begging for her return. Eventually, a compromise had been reached. She did much of the work from home, but went into the Museum a couple of days a week to oversee operations. She still would have been apprehensive about this arrangement if it hadn't been for Margaret. Yes, Jonathan was around most days, but, as closely as he had bonded with his nephew, he seemed to be almost afraid of the delicate girl-child. He refused to even pick her up half the time, as if he were afraid she might break.

But having Margaret around had made the transition very easy. Hannah spent those days playing with Auntie Meg, and Evelyn suspected that sometimes her daughter barely noticed her mother was gone.

"How was the Museum today?" Margaret asked, rising from the bench and drawing her lace shawl around her shoulders.

"Oh, you know, the same as ever," Evelyn replied lightly, but her mind was on the letter she had received earlier that day. "Do you know where Rick is?"

Margaret shook her head. "He and Jonathan went out earlier this afternoon. Jonathan wanted Rick to see that car he's thinking of buying. Rick didn't look too confident, though. I fear it could be a disaster. I'm sure they'll be back for dinner, though."

Evelyn swung Hannah over onto her hip and picked up the satchel she had dropped. Dinnertime was soon enough to discuss it. It involved them all in one way or another, so perhaps a family discussion would be best, after all.

****

The O'Connell family didn't employ a full house of servants. They could probably afford them, and Jonathan had said on many occasions that he would enjoy having someone always there at his beck and call, but neither Evelyn nor Rick liked the feeling. They did employ a housekeeper and a gardener to help keep the sprawling manor house and grounds in order. Their other indulgence was a cook, and Evelyn wouldn't trade having a cook for the world. Her time was precious; she wanted to spend as much time as she could with her family, especially on those days when she had to go to the Museum. It meant so much to her to be able to spend her time after work with them, and not scrambling in the kitchen.

As a result, dinnertime was a relaxed occasion. Hannah ate early, in the kitchen, and was put to bed before the rest of the family gathered around the table. Alex ate with them, happy at twelve to be treated as an adult in at least this one respect.

Tonight, Jonathan was hunkered over his plate, sulking over the car that he didn't buy that day. "He wanted far too much for the blasted thing," he complained. "And the bastard wouldn't come down on it, either."

"Jonathan, language," Evelyn admonished from the foot of the table, with a nod towards Alex. Margaret raised her eyebrows at him from her place across the table, while Rick frowned. 

Jonathan scowled. "Sorry, Evy. Just ignore me, partner," he added with a wink in his nephew's direction.

"Oh, Mother," Alex started to complain, but was stopped by a serious look from Evelyn. He could tell that she wasn't in the mood to put up with any arguments. She seemed to have something on her mind. He shut his mouth and turned his attention back to his potatoes.

Sure enough, a few moments later Evelyn put her fork down. "I got a letter today from Dr. Richardson," she began.

Rick looked confused. "Who?"

"Bembridge Scholars," Jonathan answered for his sister, who nodded in agreement.

"They've been after me about this kind of thing for some time. I've managed to put them off before, but they're beginning to insist. And the letter today...well, it seems I'm the most uniquely qualified, and so I'm not sure how I can say no this time."

"Evelyn, wait a second." Rick held up a hand. "You're ahead of yourself here. I've got no idea what you're talking about. Back up and start again."

Evelyn looked down at her plate for a moment, frowning. Then she raised her head back up again and looked calmly at her husband. "I have to go to Egypt."

There was a clatter as Rick and Jonathan dropped their forks in unison. "No," Rick said.

"But I have to--"

"No way in hell. Every time we make it out of there alive, it's a miracle. I refuse to tempt fate by going back there again. Haven't you told them that before? What's out there that they need you to handle?"

Evelyn took a deep breath. There were certain words that Rick never wanted to hear again, and she was about to speak one of them. "Hamunaptra." Now Margaret set her fork down, her face suddenly pale, her hand drifting to her throat where a thin red scar lingered just beneath her right ear. Alex looked at his mother, his eyes wide. For a few long moments no one spoke. Then it seemed like everyone did.

"Wow, Mother, are we really moving to Egypt?"

"Now just think about this, Old Mum. Do you really want to go back there?"

"I...I don't know if I could..."

"No." Rick's firm voice cut through them all. He looked levelly at Evelyn, who met his gaze with equal steadiness. "Evelyn, now come on. You can't expect to pack up this entire family and move back to Egypt. Not after everything we've been through. What do those Bembridge Scholars think they can do--"

Evelyn interrupted him. "Wait, Rick. No. You've misunderstood. You all have. We're not moving to Egypt." She ignored Alex's groan of disappointment and continued. "I simply have to go there on Museum business. For a little while. Not permanently."

"Is it another artifact acquisition?" Margaret asked. "Like when Rick came to Cairo before?"

"In a way. It's an auction that they're asking me to attend. There's an estate going on the block in Alexandria, and the Bembridge Scholars are asking me to represent the British Museum. As I said, I've been able to get out of these kinds of auctions before; normally I can send someone else from the Museum to bid for us. But I believe I should go this time."

"Why?" Rick asked. "What's so important about this auction that the curator of the British Museum has to be there?"

Evelyn sighed. "I'm not going as the curator. I'm going as an expert on Hamunaptra."

"There's that word again," Jonathan muttered across the table to Margaret, who tried to smile in response.

Evelyn continued; she was getting good at ignoring outbursts from family members. "Apparently, there are some artifacts in this auction that are rumored to be from Hamunaptra. And since I'm the only one the Bembridge Scholars know who has any first-hand knowledge of the place, they want me to verify the validity of these items."

"But what good is that going to--  


"Rick." Evelyn leaned across the table. "If those artifacts truly are from Hamunaptra, I need to bring them back to England."

"Why?" Rick wasn't giving in. "Why you? What about Ardeth? The Medjai? They're the guardians of Hamunaptra, not you. Shouldn't they be the ones to get these artifacts and keep them safe?"

"Don't you think I've thought of that?" Evelyn snapped. "How would you propose that I contact Ardeth to let him know about this? Would a telegram reach him in the desert?" She sighed, curbing her frustration. "And in the meantime, who knows what could happen if they fall into the wrong hands? Or even innocent hands. It wasn't exactly a pleasure cruise for Margaret when she ended up with the Key, now was it?" She covered one of Margaret's hands with her own, softening the abruptness of her words. 

"She's right, Rick," Margaret said softly, the fingertips of her right hand running over the scar on her neck again. No one needed to ask what she was thinking about; she had received that scar in Hamunaptra. 

Rick looked at Margaret for a second, his eyes reflecting the same remembered pain that Margaret's did. He had been there at Hamunaptra that day, and he had thought then that he'd lost her for good.

"I know," he finally said. He looked back to Evelyn, resigned. "How long are we going to be there?"

She shook her head. "There's no need for us all to go. I'm the only one that--"

"How long are we going to be there?" Rick asked again. The look on his face was indisputable; either they all went, or... well, that was it, really. There was no other option.

Evelyn gave a sort of half smile. "A few days. A week, at most. Do you really want to go?"

"No, I don't. But you're not going alone, so I guess that means I'm going too. What about you, Meg?" He turned to his adopted sister with an air of forced jocularity. "Feel up for a trip back?"

She smiled a little weakly. "I've never been to Alexandria," she offered. She looked across to Jonathan, who tried to look innocent.

"Me? No, I don't see the point, really. I'd just get in the way, wouldn't I, Evy?" He looked hopefully at her. "Besides, someone should stay here and mind the house, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes?" Margaret said, raising an eyebrow. "And who will mind you?"

"You're going." 

"I'm going." Jonathan didn't even try to argue; Rick's face was set with decision.

"I want to go," Alex offered, pretending that he had been asked for his opinion.

Evelyn cocked her head and thought a moment. "Well, I suppose it would be good for Hannah to see Egypt."

"Great," Rick said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. "The triumphant return of the O'Connells to Egypt," he said dryly.

Jonathan scowled again. "I just hope the world doesn't end."


	2. Arabic, Egypt, Scotch, and a Key

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Rick sat on the bed, reclining against the feather pillows as he watched Evelyn pack. Most of her clothing choices made perfect sense: feminine business suits, light cotton clothing for the hot Egyptian days. But his eyebrows shot to the skies as she tossed in her favorite evening dress- black shot through with silver threads, a gown that was cut too high up the leg in his opinion.

"What is that for?" he asked. "Planning on going to some parties while we're there?"

"Well, yes," she replied. She tossed him the letter from its place on the nightstand. "There's a reception the night before the auction, a sort of preview, really. All of the lots are up for public viewing. I'm hoping to get a look at the items from Hamunaptra. Perhaps I can even find out of they're genuine before the auction itself."

Rick frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "So you don't even know going in if these are the real thing?"

"No." Evelyn picked up the catalog that had come with the letter. "The artifacts are pictured here, see?" She turned to a page about three-quarters of the way through before handing it to him. He glanced at the photos on the page she indicated.

"These pictures are terrible," he said, tossing the catalog onto the bed. 

She nodded. "Exactly. They're rather blurred, aren't they? So I have a feeling they may be forgeries. I'm hoping I can get close enough to them to tell before I have to bid on them." She cast an uncertain look at her suitcase, chewing on her thumbnail.

"What is it?" Rick caught her air of concern and reached out to run a reassuring hand up her arm. She shook her head, but he could tell that she was still preoccupied.

"It's nothing. At least, it's probably nothing. It's just--" She turned and perched on the edge of the bed, facing her husband. "It's been a long time since I've been to Egypt. My Arabic was spotty at best when I lived there, but now…" she frowned. "I don't know if I remember any at all."

"But these are going to be museum people, mostly, right?" Rick asked. "They'll speak English, won't they?"

Evelyn shrugged. "Most of them will. But if I'm to get these artifacts, I'm going to need every advantage. I can't have people talking over my head with me having no idea of what they're saying." 

"Well, can't you get an interpreter, then?"

"I don't know. I don't like to depend on someone I've never even met before to tell me what others might be saying about me. Ooh, I just wish I had made more of an effort to learn the language when I lived there." Rick watched her face as she talked. He knew what was really bothering her. She was someone who liked being in control, liked being the smart one. This small chink in her armor wasn't sitting well with her at all.

She threw up her hands. "I mean, for Heaven's sake! Thanks to Margaret, the children speak Arabic better than I do--" She broke off speaking suddenly and looked at Rick. The idea had hit them both at the same time.

"Do you think she'll go to the reception with me?"

Rick shrugged. "I wouldn't see why not. It sounds like the best solution to me. That way you won't be there alone, and you'll have an interpreter you can trust. Besides, it'll be good to get Meg out of the house, get her to live a little." Rick was sometimes frustrated by Margaret's habits. When he'd met up with her again in Cairo, she was teaching in the orphanage where they had grown up, as solitary as the nuns she lived with. He had thought that bringing her to England would do her good, bring her out of her shell. And while living with the O'Connells had obviously made her happy, she stuck mostly to the house and the children, rarely going out. He worried sometimes that Margaret had simply traded one cloister for another.

"I'll have to buy her an evening gown before we leave," Evelyn said excitedly. 

Rick nodded towards the slinky one she'd already packed. "Make it more sedate than that one, or she'll never wear it."

***

Alex couldn't sleep. He turned over onto his stomach, punched his pillow a few times, and tried to settle down again. Sleep still didn't come. 

But that was to be expected. He was far too excited to sleep. He was going back to Egypt!

Alex O'Connell had a strange relationship with that land. As a small child, he had accompanied his explorer parents on many a dig, and could read ancient Egyptian almost as well as his mother. Egypt was a land of dreams and imagination. He had sometimes felt that he could never get enough of it.

But four years ago, at the age of eight, he had put on the Bracelet of Anubis and had nearly died. He had been kidnapped, and had lived in terror every day of Imhotep and Lock-Nah, wondering if this moment would be the one in which they grew tired of him and decided to kill him.

He had watched his mother die. He had watched his uncle Jonathan risk his own life so he, Alex, could read from the Book of the Dead and save his mother. When they finally went home to England, he had sworn that he never wanted to see Egypt again.

For at least a year afterwards, the nightmares were terrifying. Sometimes he didn't make it to the Pyramid within the allotted seven days, and died horribly. Sometimes his uncle Jon lay at his feet, his heart cut out, and he failed to bring back his mother, losing them both with one tragic mistake. Each time he awoke, he promised himself again that he would never go back to Egypt. His mother went back to work at the British Museum, but he steadfastly refused to go with her. He didn't want to see a cartouche, a sarcophagus, anything.

But gradually, the natural curiosity of a nine-year old boy overcame the nightmares. As time went on, the bad dreams came less and less frequently. He spent a little more time in his parents' study, idly looking at books on Egypt that always seemed to be left on the lower shelves for him to reach. One day, he rode over to the Museum with Uncle Jon to meet his mother there. Then he did it again. The third time, he found himself back in the ancient Egypt room, wondering what had scared him so much.

Now, at the ripe old age of twelve, Egypt had regained its fascination. But in all this time, his parents had refused to go back. His dad had gone back to Cairo a couple years ago, and he had begged to go along, but his dad had said no. Then he'd come back with Aunt Meg, a quiet lady who had spent almost her whole life in Cairo, and yet knew less about the ancient world than he did. Alex didn't understand that at all.

But none of that mattered. He was going back at last! He rolled over onto his back and screwed his eyes shut. He needed to get some sleep. He had to at least try.

***

Jonathan poured a little more Scotch into his glass before dropping himself onto the chaise lounge. He took a sip, leaning his head back while the liquid trickled a trail of fire down his throat, warming him from the inside out. He didn't want to go to Egypt. He _really_ didn't want to go to Egypt. He'd had enough death, both natural and un, to last him for quite some time. And every time he went to Egypt lately, someone died. 

He held up his glass, swirling the amber liquid within so it caught the light. Rick was the hero in the family. Evelyn was the smart one, and Alex, it seemed, was the perfect blend of his parents. Even Margaret, who wasn't really a member of the family, had blended into the O'Connell family with no awkwardness whatsoever. Jonathan had originally thought her very quiet and schoolmarmy, but one day she'd raised an eyebrow at something he'd said, and laughed with an openness that made her look ten years younger. And suddenly she was no longer a stranger; she was Rick's little sister. And therefore his, as well.

But who was he? Where did Jonathan Carnahan fit into the family? For so long now, he had been the family screw-up. Oh, he came through when he had to, there was no doubt about that. He was a good shot, which he found himself proving time and again. And always in Egypt. But the fact remained that he didn't _like_ proving himself. He'd much rather be here in the drawing room, with a relaxing glass of Scotch, or maybe even a relaxing blonde. Not perched on cliffs, shooting at soldiers who were trying to kill his brother-in-law and his nephew.

But here they were. Going to Egypt again. And as innocent as it all looked, Jonathan had the sinking feeling that they would have to save the world again.

***

Margaret unpinned the small gold pocket watch from her blouse, winding it before she set it down on her dressing table. Changing into her nightgown, she settled herself in front of the mirror to brush out her hair and plait it before going to bed. Her hands moved automatically, while her mind was elsewhere.

Hamunaptra. So much had happened there. Some of it she never wanted to think about again, while some things she never wanted to forget.

She opened a small drawer in her vanity and reached inside, drawing out a small bag. She had knit the bag herself, two years ago as she had traveled from Cairo to London, out of a few skeins of black cotton. She had chosen black for two reasons. The dark color and closeness of the stitches hid the bag's contents from view, which was the whole reason for making the bag in the first place. The other reason, which she didn't admit to anyone else, was that black reminded her of the person who had given her the object. 

She loosened the drawstring and took out a small octagonal box, which appeared to be made of bronze, and was covered in hieroglyphics. It looked innocuous enough, but when it had come into her possession, it had touched off a chain of events that had ended with her on her knees in the desert with a knife at her throat. Nightmares of that day still plagued her; she often woke up terrified, the scar on her throat almost burning with remembered pain. But in the end it had all turned out well. She had lived, and the Key was now harmless. 

But he had asked her to keep it safe. On her last night in Cairo, Ardeth Bay, commander of the Medjai, had given her the Key, kissed her hand, and told her to keep it safe. She had done as he had asked, and would continue to do so. He had also told her to never ride a bus, which still made no sense to her, but she had obeyed that request as well.

And so she had knit the small bag to conceal the Key, since she had lost the scarf she used to keep it wrapped in. She had made it in black, because he had always worn black.

She replaced the Key in its bag and returned it to the small drawer in her vanity. She would not take it with her to Egypt. She had a feeling that that would only invite trouble. The Key would be much safer here in England. 

She sighed. They would probably all be safer here in England, of that she was certain. Margaret had never liked to travel. Traveling reminded her that the world was a very large place, and that knowledge made her feel very small and alone. Going back to Egypt was especially frightening to her. The last time she had gone there, she had been six years old, and her parents had died there, leaving her alone. She had remained in Egypt ever since. Until Rick came.

But things were different now. She wasn't alone, and never would be again. She wouldn't be abandoned in Egypt this time. She had a family now, in spirit if not in name. And somehow, that made all the difference.

Margaret turned out the light and climbed into bed. The trip would be fine, she told herself. There were no undead priests this time, no golden books with incantations of death. Just a few museum pieces. Yes, everything would be fine.


	3. A Blue Dress and an Avenging Angel

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The trip to Alexandria was, to everyone's relief, uneventful. The O'Connell family settled into a small two-story house that the Museum had arranged for them to rent while they were in Egypt. Alexandria, they found, was quite different from Cairo. It wasn't a bustling, busy city. On the banks of the Mediterranean Sea, it also didn't have quite the same oppressive heat, yet it was a touch more humid. Alex set to work exploring the city, dragging his father and occasionally his uncle along with him. Evelyn and Margaret visited the museum that housed the collection that was up for auction, but they were unable to get a viewing of anything before the gala reception. Evelyn was forced to curb her impatience and wait for the night of the reception.

It was only two days, but it seemed like forever. At last, the evening of the reception arrived. Evelyn smoothed the black gown over her hips, happy that after two children, she had been able to retain her figure. She had left her hair down, and it fell in dark, loose curls across her shoulders and halfway down her back. She smiled at her reflection and reached for her earrings.

"Evelyn!" Margaret called to her from her room, her voice a wail. Evelyn hurried down the hall to her sister-in-law's room, putting on her earrings as she did so.

"What's the problem?"

Margaret gestured to herself. "This dress! I can't wear this tonight."

Evelyn cocked her head and looked at her with a critical eye. "Why not? You look wonderful."

With a moan of frustration, Margaret turned back to the mirror, shaking her head. "Look at this. It's too tight here--" she indicated her waist, "and it's far too low in the neckline. I can't go out in public looking like this."

Evelyn covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. The gown wasn't too tight; it fit Margaret perfectly. The blue silk gown had a well-draped neckline that was, admittedly, lower than Margaret was used to, but still well within the realm of decency. And it was bias-cut, which meant that the silk clung to her curves, emphasizing them rather than hiding them, like most of her other outfits did. For the first time since Evelyn had known her, Margaret didn't look like a matron. She looked like a beautiful young woman, which was exactly what Evelyn had had in mind when she had bought the gown for her.

Instead of replying, Evelyn walked out of the room and called down the stairs. "Rick? Jonathan? Can you two come up here for a minute, please? We need your opinion on something." She walked back to sit on the edge of Margaret's bed, smiling a little mischievously at Margaret's horrified expression.

"What?" Margaret's voice was nearly a squeak. "They can't see me like this!" She snatched up her dressing gown from the foot of the bed, preparing to throw it around herself. But Evelyn moved more quickly, grabbing it out of her hands and running to the door of the bedroom, getting there just as Rick arrived from downstairs, Jonathan a couple of steps behind him.

"What's the matter?" Rick asked. Evelyn gestured behind her.

"Margaret doesn't like the way she looks in this gown. So I was wondering if you could tell us what you--" Her sentence was cut off by a low whistle from her husband. Rick stepped past Evelyn into the room.

"My God, Meg, is that you?" He walked in a slow circle around her, while she blushed pink, her hands balled into fists on her hips. She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"Don't be silly, Rick, you know it's me. But will you please tell Evelyn that I cannot possibly wear this tonight?"

"Oh yes, you can," Jonathan said from the doorway, his eyes wide. "You need to wear that every day." Evelyn, standing beside her brother, no longer bothered hiding her smile. 

Margaret looked from Rick to Evelyn to Jonathan, trying to find an ally. "But… you don't understand…I can't…"

Rick gripped her shoulders firmly, turning her around so they were both looking in the mirror. "You look amazing. You may not think so, but you do. Besides," he said with a wink, "it's a three to one vote here, and you lose."

"Exactly," said Evelyn, joining them at the mirror. "Come on, Margaret," she added, a little pleading note creeping into her voice. "This will be fun, I promise. I may be old and married--"

"Hey," Rick started to protest, but Evelyn ignored him.

"--But you're not," she continued. "I know this is a serious occasion, but this is also a very posh party, and I want you to look beautiful. And you do."

"Those museum chaps won't know what hit them," Jonathan added.

Margaret looked at herself uncertainly one more time, running her hands down the sides of her torso. She started to sigh heavily, but stopped when she saw the alarming thing it did to her bosom in that gown.

"All right," she finally said, her face still a little mutinous, but a small smile on her lips. "If you're sure…"

"Very sure." Rick said.

"Quite sure," Jonathan piped up from the doorway.

"Good," Evelyn said, picking up Margaret's hairbrush from the vanity. "Now that that's settled, let's do something with your hair."

***

Evelyn had arranged for a car to pick them up and take them to the museum. Margaret stepped out feeling like a princess. Evelyn seemed to take it all in stride: being dressed in fine clothes, getting second and third looks from everyone when she entered a room. But this was all new to Margaret, who had grown up with next to nothing in an orphanage. She trembled a little, tugging discreetly on the neckline of her gown as they mounted the stone steps of the museum. Evelyn, a few steps ahead, turned and saw the fear in Margaret's eyes. Her face softened and she came back down the steps to her.

"Come on," she said, taking Margaret's arm. "You can do this. I need you in there, remember?"

Margaret shook her head a little, staring up at the doorway with wide eyes. "This is insane. I don't belong here. I--I should be back at the house, don't you think, with Hannah. Not here."

Evelyn gripped her hand tightly. "Listen to me." Her voice was a command, something left over from her previous life as an Egyptian princess. Margaret stopped talking and looked at Evelyn. "I am the one who is helpless in there. You will know what everyone in there is saying, and I need you to tell me. There's no one I know of who can do that better than you."

Margaret looked at Evelyn for another long moment. She nodded her head. "You're right. I'm sorry. I can do this." She heaved a sigh, then looked down at her dress. "But I need to stop doing _that_," she added with a small smile, starting to tug on her neckline again. But she stopped and dropped her hands in a gesture of defeat. "Let's go," she said.

The women linked arms and ascended the long staircase.

Inside was even more spectacular than Margaret had imagined. Crystal chandeliers flickered from the ceilings, and additional candlelight gave the ballroom a warm glow. Women wore evening gowns in every conceivable style and color. Some made Margaret blush just to look at them, and suddenly her own dress didn't seem quite so daring. Some of the men wore tuxedos, while the native Egyptians wore ceremonial robes of their tribes in various colors and fabrics. Color seemed to swirl around the room, making Margaret almost dizzy for a moment. But then Evelyn handed her a glass of champagne with a bolstering smile, and Margaret felt better.

Standing there in a silk gown, glass of champagne in her hand, it was easy to forget why they were there. After a few more moments of unabashed staring, Margaret remembered. Artifacts. The auction. She took another, more focused look around the room. Now she realized that grouped here and there throughout the vast ballroom were collections of glass cases. These were the artifacts that were being auctioned off tomorrow. This was the reason they were all there: to examine the objects, to decide what was important and worth bidding on. Curiously enough, hardly anyone was looking inside the glass cases. Most of the people there were chatting, laughing, and drinking champagne from crystal flutes.

Margaret glanced at Evelyn, who was noticing the same thing. "Well," she said, leaning into Margaret, "This should be easy. You take the left side, I'll take the right, and we'll meet by that potted palm over there?" Margaret nodded. They had talked over their strategy before leaving the house; they would separate briefly at the beginning of the evening and see where the Hamunaptra artifacts were being displayed. Once they found them, they would see whom they needed to talk to about getting a closer look. Evelyn really wanted to figure out if the pieces were real before she spent a lot of the Museum's money.

***

It took some time to make a circuit around the room. Evelyn threaded her way through the crowd with ease, listening here and there to snippets of conversation. She kept her ears peeled for mention of the word "Hamunaptra," but heard nothing. Before she had realized it, she had completed her half of the room, and met up with Margaret again.

"Did you find them?" Margaret asked quietly. Evelyn shook her head and took another sip of champagne.

"No. Did you?"

"No, I didn't," she murmured. "Those pictures weren't clear at all, but I didn't see anything that even remotely resembled them."

Evelyn frowned, stifling a sigh of frustration. "I don't understand." She cast an unhappy look around the room. "They were in the catalog. It's the whole reason we're here. Were they pulled from the auction?"

"Nothing was pulled. Perhaps I can help?" said a deep voice behind them. Both women turned in unison to see a short, rather round Egyptian man. He was elegantly dressed in a classic tuxedo, and he extended a hand to Evelyn. "You are perhaps Dr. O'Connell of the British Museum?"

Evelyn smiled. "Yes, I am. You must be Dr. Hassid. This is your museum, your auction, yes?"

The rotund man chuckled. "Yes. As you say, all this--" he waved a hand to encompass the room, "is mine. But for now only. Soon, perhaps you will take them with you?" He frowned a little. "You will forgive me, I hope. My English is bad, I fear."

Evelyn looked at Margaret. The younger woman smiled, took a deep breath, and asked Dr. Hassid a question in Arabic, evidently asking him if he would prefer to converse in that language. His eyes lit up and he responded eagerly to her question. Margaret continued to talk. Evelyn remembered enough to pick up some words here and there. Margaret was introducing herself. The curator then asked another question, and she replied explaining how such a pretty young Western girl (Evelyn smiled at the blush creeping up Margaret's cheeks) was fluent in his native tongue.

After a few more exchanges, Margaret turned back to Evelyn. "He asks what it is we are seeking that we do not see here tonight." She raised her eyebrows, and the question she asked was clear to Evelyn: _Do we tell him?_

Evelyn nodded. "He put the catalog together, after all," she replied. With a nod, Margaret turned back to Dr. Hassid and replied. Evelyn heard the word "Hamunaptra," and the man's expression changed. He stepped a little closer to the two women and lowered his voice, speaking in low, rapid tones to Margaret, glancing at Evelyn every so often as he did so.

Margaret turned back to Evelyn, frowning. "It's a special collection, he says, not being kept with the others. These--" she waved her hand towards the cases in the room, "--are for everyone, so to speak. But the Hamunaptra objects are special. They can only be seen by appointment. Apparently, we should have come earlier in the week and made arrangements to see them before the auction."

Evelyn sputtered, momentarily at a loss. "But…but we did come to see them. They wouldn't let us see anything…" she trailed off as she remembered. They had asked to see the auction lots, but had not specifically mentioned Hamunaptra. Evelyn remembered not wanting to call too much attention to themselves before they had to. Now it seemed that her caution was her undoing.

"But are they here?" she asked. "If they're in the museum, perhaps he can let us see them now? Ask him, please, Margaret." She listened eagerly as Margaret talked to the man again. He frowned, and Evelyn's heart sank. Dr. Hassid glanced around the crowded room and pulled out his pocket watch from his vest pocket. Looking at it, he snapped it shut and murmured a brief reply to Margaret. After replacing his watch, he took Margaret's hand and bowed over it. Then he did the same to Evelyn, smiled, and walked away.

"What happened?" Evelyn asked, confused. "What did he say?" Margaret turned back to her, a triumphant smile on her face.

"We did it," she said. "He said that he's terribly busy, of course, with the reception and all. But if we can be in the east wing in an hour's time, he will meet us there, and make arrangements for someone to give us a look at the artifacts."

Evelyn clasped her hands together, suppressing the urge to cheer. "How marvelous. Thank you, Margaret. You did wonderfully." She looked around the room again in satisfaction. "So now all we have to do is wait."

Margaret nodded, her hand going to her throat. "If you don't mind, Evy, I'm going to search out another drink. My throat's a little dry, from talking for two people," she said with a smile.

"Of course." Evelyn watched her sister-in-law cross the room, grinning at all of the second looks she was getting from the men she passed. In spite of the mission they were on, it was also nice to be here, if only to dress Margaret up and let her feel like a queen, for once. She did so much for them; taking care of Hannah, studying with Alex, that Evelyn feared she didn't do much for herself. Rick was right; Margaret needed to come out of her shell, "live a little," as he'd said. Well, Evelyn thought, this was just the beginning.

Just then, a touch on her elbow made her nearly drop her champagne flute. She spun around, and her face broke into a smile as she saw who was standing behind her.

"Ardeth!" she said. The Medjai chieftain greeted her with a bow and an easy smile.

"Evelyn."

Her face suddenly fell. "Oh, no."

"What is it?" Ardeth glanced over one shoulder, wondering what had startled her.

Evelyn shook her head with a wry smile. "I'm just wondering what's going to happen now. Every time we see you, imminent danger is never far behind."

"Then perhaps this time we can break that pattern," he said, the smile returning to his face.

"I would like that very much. How long have you been here? I've not seen you."

"I've only just arrived," he replied. "And somehow, I think I can guess why you are here."

"Probably the same reason you are," she said. She lowered her voice, leaning a little towards him. "Hamunaptra?" His eyes darted from side to side, checking if they were overheard. Satisfied, he nodded.

"Indeed. Word came to me that there are artifacts here from the City of the Dead. But it appears that my information was incorrect; I see nothing here that pertains to the City."

"That's because they aren't here." In a low voice, she told him what they had learned from Dr. Hassid. "So in an hour," she concluded, "we're meeting him in the east wing to look over the artifacts."

Ardeth raised his eyebrows. "Just be sure that you do not examine them too closely. Do not read any books. Do not try on any jewelry." His voice was stern, but Evelyn could detect an undercurrent of amusement. Was he teasing her?

"Of course," she replied, just as amused. "And if Margaret has any strange dreams, we will lock her in her room for the duration of our stay."

He nodded, the stern façade all but gone. "That is perhaps wise." He was quiet for a moment. "How is Margaret? Is she happier in England than in Egypt?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?"

"She is here?" Ardeth looked surprised. "I would think that she would stay far away from anything to do with Hamunaptra."

"That's my fault, really," Evelyn replied. "My Arabic was never very good in the first place, and well, now it's simply terrible. She was good enough to come along to translate for me."

He nodded, thinking. "So the two of you will see these artifacts alone. With someone you do not know."

Evelyn blinked at him. She hadn't really thought of it that way. "Well, I suppose so, yes."

"No." His voice was low, but firm, and reminded her of Rick when he was through arguing. "You will not. I will accompany you."

Evelyn glanced around uncertainly. "I don't know. I mean, I appreciate the offer, and I understand that you wish to see them as well. But it seems that these arrangements were a bit last minute. Dr. Hassid may not take too kindly to our bringing a friend along."

Ardeth thought for a moment. "Then I shall persuade Margaret to stay behind, and I will go as your interpreter in her stead."

"That could work," Evelyn replied with a smile. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind. She's having a hard time as it is, poor thing. Parties don't seem to be her favorite thing in the world."

"Indeed. Where is she?"

Evelyn looked around the room a couple of times, before she spotted Margaret in a shadowy corner. "Ah. There she is. But I spoke too soon. Perhaps she is having a little fun after all. She's over there--" she indicated across the room, where Margaret stood with a glass of champagne, in conversation with a tall man in a tuxedo. "See her? In the blue." She glanced back at Ardeth, and nearly laughed in surprise. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was staring. At Margaret.

"Excuse me," he said with a bow in Evelyn's direction, never taking his eyes off of Margaret. "I will speak to her."

Evelyn sipped at her champagne as she watched Ardeth walk away, a smile playing around her lips. In spite of all the adventures they had shared together, she realized at that moment that she really didn't know the Medjai chieftain all that well. As a warrior, yes. But not as a person. She didn't have to know him very well, however, to guess that he was not happy to see Margaret talking to that man. If she had to guess, she'd say he looked jealous. 

***

Ardeth Bay had thought of Margaret often in the two years since they had said goodbye to one another in Cairo. But it had never really been her physical features that lingered in his memory. It was her conflicting nature that had intrigued him from the start. At first glance, she had seemed to be almost invisible. She was timid and quiet, and her lightly tanned skin and faded brown hair caused her to fade even more into the background. But he had found that the more time he spent around her, the more visible she had become. Her timid nature had given way to an inner bravery that had astonished him. Her love for Rick had given her the strength to stand up to Imhotep's possession, and that bravery had saved them all.

It hadn't been until the last night he saw her, standing outside her hotel in Cairo, that she had begun to intrigue him in other ways as well. For the first time, he had truly noticed her smile, which lifted her face and made her look years younger and much less worried. For the first time, he had truly noticed the softness of her skin as he had kissed her hand and bid her farewell.

He had attempted to forget her. She had left Egypt to live in England; what was the use in thinking on a woman that he would never see again? But still, among his possessions was a tattered grayish-purple scarf that had once tied back her hair, a memento he had been unable to part with.

And now, in this museum ballroom in Alexandria, Ardeth skirted the perimeter of the room towards where Margaret talked and laughed with a stranger, and he found that he could not tear his eyes away from her. The time in England had certainly been good to her. Where the hot Egyptian sun had faded her hair to a nondescript color, time spent out of the sun in England had darkened it, to the color of warmed honey that spilled down her shoulders. This same climate had lightened her skin as well, and as he got closer, he could see that the tan on her skin had virtually disappeared. And the gown she wore… In his memory, she was always dressed like the schoolteacher she had been, in drab, shapeless dresses that made her look much older. But this gown clung to her in places he did not want to think about. Not if he was going to keep his mind on those artifacts.

Yes, Margaret had changed quite a bit. But her smile was the same, and the way she was smiling at the fair-haired man in front of her…Ardeth frowned. She was no longer smiling at that man. He had his hand on her arm, and she looked afraid. Ardeth's face darkened, and he quickened his step as he saw Margaret back into the shadows, the tall man's back obscuring her from the rest of the room.

***

Margaret had never had champagne before. When Evelyn had handed her that first glass, she had sipped at it without thinking. The bubbles had gone up her nose right away, and she had nearly sneezed. And she wasn't sure if she liked the taste; it seemed dry, not really quenching her thirst, but how could a liquid be dry? But as she made her way across the room, she realized that she would very much like another glass. She stopped walking, momentarily confused. Evelyn had given her the first glass, and now and then she had seen waiters circulating with trays. But now that she wanted another drink, of course, none of these waiters were to be found. She backed up a few steps, almost hidden by a shadowy corner, away from the crowd, wondering if she looked as lost as she felt.

Evidently she did. "Were you looking for someone?" She looked around, a little startled, to find a man smiling down at her. A handsome man, with closely cropped blond hair and gentle blue eyes, wearing a tuxedo, and holding two glasses of champagne. She faltered, a little unsure of how to respond.

"Yes, actually," she finally said. "I was looking for something to drink. Where did you get those?"

He looked down at his hands, as if seeing the glasses for the first time. "Oh, these?" He looked back up at her and grinned, looking like a schoolboy charming his way out of a punishment. "I happened to pick these up just a moment ago," he said. "And I was looking for a beautiful young woman to share them with. And it would certainly help if she were lonely and looking for a drink. Would you care to join me?" He asked with a wink, extending a glass.

Margaret smiled as best she could through her blush. Jonathan had said she should wear this dress every day. She was beginning to see why; people certainly treated her differently. With a confidence she didn't quite feel, she took one of the glasses. "And how do you know that I am lonely?" she asked with a brave smile. "I am here with someone, you know, we merely became separated." She took a healthy sip of her champagne. She couldn't believe it. She was actually flirting! Now, if only her hands wouldn't shake so much.

He scoffed. "Nonsense. No man would leave you alone for a moment. Not if he had eyes, anyway. So where is he?" He looked around with a look of mock sternness that made Margaret giggle. Or maybe it was the champagne. "I would seriously like to call him out for abandoning you like this."

Margaret laughed again. "Please, sir. That won't be necessary." She schooled her features into a more serious expression, remembering why she was here. Evelyn was waiting for her, and here she was dallying with a total stranger. "I am here with my sister-in-law, who I am sure is looking for me. Really, I must return to her. Thank you for the champagne." She made a move to step around the man and back into the room, but he blocked her path.

"Now, really," he said, the charm in his voice gaining a bit of an edge now. "We haven't even become acquainted yet, and you are already leaving me? Please, do stay and talk with me some more. I would love to get to know you better." He placed a hand on her arm, halting her progress. The touch was gentle, like a caress, but Margaret had the feeling that if she persisted in trying to walk away, his grip would become more threatening. Panic closed her throat. What had she been thinking, flirting with a stranger like that? She wanted to fling the champagne flute as far away as she could. 

"Please." Her voice was quiet, and not a little afraid. His grip tightened on her arm, forcing her back a couple of steps, further into the shadows.

"Please what?" His voice had lost all charm now, and was as hard and cold as a diamond. "Who are you?" he asked. "What is your interest in Hamunaptra?"

Her mouth sagged open in surprise. Her mind raced as she fought to come up with an innocent-enough sounding answer. 

And then the point of a knife touched his throat, pushing down hard enough to dimple the skin, but not enough to break it. "I believe," said a deep voice, "that neither of those questions are any of your concern."

A myriad of emotions flooded through Margaret, relief the most prevalent. She knew that voice, although she had not heard it in two years. She also knew that knife. She ought to; it had been at her own throat once.

The man's hand was suddenly gone from her arm, and he backed away from her a couple of steps. He bowed to her sardonically. "What pleasant company you keep," he practically spat at her. But she was no longer looking at him. All of her attention was focused on her rescuer.

In times past, she had thought that Ardeth Bay was evil. In the desert outside of Cairo, she had all but accused him of being a murderer. But in the space of a few days, she had gone from fearing and hating him to considering him an ally. Someone she had trusted with her life, even when he had nearly taken it away. And now, tonight, he looked like an avenging angel. And the most beautiful one she had ever seen. He was all in black, of course. His hair flowed down in waves to his shoulders, where it blended in with the black of his robes. The cloak he wore was black as well, and richly embroidered in silver, bearing symbols she did not recognize. It must be ceremonial, part of her brain thought idly. He hadn't worn it on their journey in the desert two years ago…

"Are you all right?" He stepped towards her now, looking into her face, giving her the opportunity to look into his. It had been two years since she had seen him, yet her memory of him had been so perfect that it was uncanny. Eyes that should be black, but instead sparkled a warm brown. Vaguely Arabic tattoos on his cheeks that she had never gotten around to learning the meaning of, and a string of hieroglyphics across his forehead that she didn't have a prayer of deciphering. She remembered waking from a nightmare in the desert; she remembered lifting her hand up and tracing the curve of one of those tattoos. Her hand moved now, raised a little as if she would do that again. 

Then she dropped it. What was going on? First a strange man flirted with and threatened her, all in the space of a few moments. Then she was saved from heaven knows what by someone who had once nearly killed her, who had haunted her memory ever since, whom she had never expected to see again. She'd had enough; she was never wearing an evening gown or drinking champagne again.

She was vaguely aware that he had asked her a question, and was standing patiently before her, waiting for an answer. She stared up at him for a couple more seconds, and then said the first thing that came in to her head.

"What are you doing here?"

His lips twitched, as if he would smile. "I have not seen you in some time," he said. "Evelyn suggested I ask you how you are."

"Did she?" Margaret was beyond being confused now. Her mind spun around and around, with no idea of when or where it was planning to stop. "I'm very well, thank you," she finally said. The absurdity of that statement hit her the moment it was out of her mouth, and she laughed, a short laugh with only a small tinge of hysteria.

"Yes," Ardeth replied, smiling for real now, pointedly replacing his knife in his belt. "I can see that." He looked over his shoulder, at the blond man's retreating back. "A friend of yours?"

"No. He seemed very nice at first, but then…" Margaret shuddered in memory. Her face grew serious as she remembered the whole conversation. "He must have heard Evelyn and me talking about…about…" she looked around them before whispering the word, "Hamunaptra."

Ardeth frowned. "Then perhaps it is a good thing I am here. You want nothing to do with any of this, do you?"

She shook her head miserably. "I really don't, if you want to know the truth. But Evelyn needs me, and I promised I would help her." She cocked her head and thought a moment, regarding him. "Are you here to see the artifacts as well?"

He nodded. "I am. But there is something that I need you to do for me."

"Of course. What is it?" Even as she agreed to whatever it was he would ask of her, Margaret felt her stomach cramp. What could an experienced warrior like Ardeth Bay want from her that he could not do himself?

He took another step closer to her, placing a conspiratorial hand on her arm. The touch was nearly identical to that of the tuxedoed man, yet Margaret had no desire to run away this time. Less than none. He bent his head toward hers. "I need for you to suddenly feel unwell." His voice was a soft murmur as he spoke just to her, his lips so close to her ear that she could feel the currents of air from his breath as he spoke. The room suddenly felt much warmer.

Her eyes swiveled up to his without moving her head. She found she couldn't move away from him, even if she wished to. And she didn't wish to. "Unwell?" she repeated. "Whatever for?"

"I wish to see the artifacts. You do not." The murmuring continued. Margaret listened to his words with half her brain, while the other half was preoccupied with other things. Like the softness of his cloak as it brushed her bare arm, and the heat of his body as he stood close to her. "You are going with Evelyn because you speak Arabic."

"Ah." Now she understood. She risked a small smile, which he returned. "So the interpreter falls ill, and you heroically take her place."

"That was my idea."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why, sir, that is so very kind of you. Very chivalrous." He frowned a little and she wanted to laugh out loud. "Relax, I'm only teasing you. I've been living with Rick too long; many of his bad habits have worn off on me."

"I hope not," he replied, arching an eyebrow of his own, his face still close to hers. What was it about his eyes? Even when she had been unsure of him, his eyes had always been magnetic to her. She felt as though she could look into them for weeks. She found herself wondering if he liked the way she looked in her gown. It was suddenly terribly important.

Reluctantly, she dragged her eyes away from his. She clicked open her small gold watch, which she wore tonight on a chain around her neck. Glancing at the time, she clicked it shut again. "We should get back to Evelyn," she said. "It's nearly time for us--well, for _you_ now, to meet Dr. Hassid in the east wing." She took one last sip of champagne, and set the glass down. "Are you ready?" she asked.

His brow furrowed. "What for?"

She grinned. "To catch me. I'm going to have to perform a spectacular faint, after all. Too much champagne, I fear," she said with mock distress. "Once we are back to Evelyn, I will fall. That should startle her. It needs to look real, don't you think?" She took a couple of steps away from him, feeling him fall into step beside her. She tried to hide the disappointment in her heart. It seemed to her that every single person in the city of Alexandria had called her beautiful this evening, except for the one person that she would have dearly loved to have heard it from. She tossed her hair over her shoulder in a dismissive gesture. It didn't matter. This evening was about Evelyn and those artifacts, not in indulging some schoolgirl's fantasy.

***

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and that was when he saw it. A thin red scar, just an inch or so beneath her right ear, parallel to her jawline. His heart stopped for a few beats as he looked at it. He had known that it would be there; it was impossible to think that the wound he had inflicted on her at Hamunaptra would not have left a scar. Yet, seeing it shocked him all the same. His fingers itched to touch it, to trace the mark he had left on her. He wanted to fall to his knees before her and beg for her forgiveness. He almost smiled at that last, picturing her reaction if he did that in this crowded ballroom.

He forced his mind back on the task ahead. There would be time enough for apologies later. He needed to think about the artifacts, about Hamunaptra, and not about this beautiful woman by his side. He was sure that between himself and Evelyn, they should be able to tell if they were real or forgeries. At least, that was what he hoped. 


	4. Clandestine Poker and a Ceremonial Dagge...

Evelyn and Margaret had left for the party

Chapter Four

Evelyn and Margaret left for the party. Shortly after that, the night stopped making sense. 

At least that was how Rick O'Connell saw it. The evening had started out well enough. The women had left in the hired car for the museum reception, and he had found himself responsible for putting Hannah to bed. Alex turned out to be a great help in that respect; the boy doted on his baby sister, and he seemed to know just what stories she wanted to hear. The older boy lay back against the pillows of Rick and Evelyn's large bed, letting the little girl clutch his first two fingers in her little fist, talking to her in a soothing voice until she dropped off. When her grip on Alex's hand loosened, Rick picked the toddler up and tucked her into the cradle that stood against the wall. They would never have had a cradle like this at home. Hannah grew so fast that she would probably outgrow this thing during their stay here. But as a temporary measure it was fine. He and Alex slipped out the door, Rick pulling it shut silently behind them.

"Fantastic," he breathed. He looked down fondly at his son, resisting the urge to rifle his hair. He knew Alex would kill him if he did that. "Great job, kiddo," he said. Alex shrugged as they headed down the stairs.

"It's easy," he said. "She likes to talk during the day, but at night she likes to listen. If you tell her enough stories, she goes right to sleep."

Downstairs, the maid employed by the house cleared the dining room table. Even after all this time, Rick still felt a little uncomfortable having people pick up after him, and had to restrain himself from pitching in and helping.

"Thank you, Claudia," he said instead. The matronly woman smiled at him, an armload of dishes in her hands.

"Of course, Mr. O'Connell. The little one asleep, then?" Off his nod, she smiled again and headed off into the kitchen. Claudia had fallen in love with Hannah the moment she met the little girl. Most people did, Rick realized upon reflection. He shook his head. What was he going to do when she was old enough for a boyfriend? Maybe he would start cleaning his guns tonight.

In the small parlor, Jonathan and Alex sat at a table. Jonathan shuffled the cards, while Alex carefully counted out small mints from a bowl. Rick tried, but failed, to suppress a smile. Evelyn had frowned on her brother teaching Alex to play poker. So they simply did it when she wasn't around. Rick settled himself into the comfortable armchair with a glass of whiskey. The liquor warmed him, and he found his senses soothed by the dull ticking of the grandfather clock and the smooth sound of the shuffling cards. In a little while, he would get up. But for now, enjoying the quiet was just fine. After three days in Egypt, Rick was finally beginning to relax. Evelyn had been right; there had been nothing to worry about as far as this trip was concerned. He had probably overreacted in London, insisting that they all come along. But everything had worked out for the best. Alex was having a great time exploring a new city. Meg was out at a party, wearing a dress that made her look younger than fifty for once. The baby was asleep, and the house was quiet. Yes…in a little while he would get up. Just not yet…

Rick was jerked out of his doze by the sound of a car stopping in front of the house. His eyes darted to the grandfather clock, confused. They had only left a couple of hours ago; was the party over that soon?

"They can't be back already," Jonathan said, echoing Rick's thoughts as he grabbed Alex's cards away from his nephew. With a practiced motion, Alex swept all the mints together and dumped them back into the bowl. He grabbed a book off a nearby shelf and threw himself onto the sofa, trying to look studious.

Rick went to the window and looked out. Two figures were walking up the path to the door. He frowned. 

"It's not them," he said. He glanced back into the parlor. Alex had rolled off the sofa, and was already in the dining room. Jonathan had slipped to the fireplace and was now standing there, poker at the ready. Rick nodded, a little impressed. He was just getting ready to do the same thing. He gestured towards his brother-in-law, who handed him the poker and grabbed another fireplace implement for himself.

They heard a key in the lock of the front door. Rick tensed, tightening his grip on the poker. Jonathan held up the small iron shovel. Alex poked his head around the doorway from the dining room. As the door slowly opened, they all heard a voice that made them relax. Margaret's voice.

"Thank you so much, Abdul." She sounded weak, tired. Rick laid the poker down, no longer needing a weapon but still concerned. Where was Evelyn?

The two figures entered the parlor. Margaret was wrapped in a long black cloak, accented here and there with symbols embroidered in silver. The cloak almost entirely obscured her gown, which was why Rick had not known it was her coming up the path. Abdul, the driver of the car Evelyn had hired, helped her into the room. She leaned heavily on him. Her hair was a little mussed, and her face was a little drawn. She looked terrible.

"Meg?" He started toward her, but Jonathan got there first, taking her out of the driver's arms and helping her to sit on the sofa.

"Are you all right, old girl?" Jonathan asked, taking her hand. Margaret smiled tiredly and leaned her head back on the sofa, closing her eyes.

"I'll be all right," she said. "I just felt faint all of a sudden. Too much champagne, Evelyn thinks. Abdul was kind enough to see me home. He'll go back for Evelyn. Thank you, Abdul," she said again, her voice a little more dismissive now. He bowed with a smile and left the room. Margaret didn't move for a few moments, and Rick studied the cloak she was wearing. It wasn't hers, and it wasn't Evelyn's, but all the same Rick knew that he had seen it before. If only he could remember where…

They all heard the car pull away and drive off into the night. When the sound had completely faded, Margaret opened her eyes again.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, her voice suddenly stronger. She jumped to her feet. "I thought he would never leave. Really, all he had to do was drive me home. But no, he had to walk me to the door and deliver me into the house. I'm surprised he didn't want to draw me a bath and read me a bedtime story."

"Meg, be careful!" Jonathan was alarmed by her agitated movement. "Don't you think you should sit down and rest? Champagne can be nasty, I'm telling you, and if it made you ill, you really should--"

"Oh, I'm fine," she replied with a grin. She unfastened the cloak and it fell off her shoulders. She caught it and tossed it onto the back of the sofa. She smiled at Jonathan's perplexed look. "It was all an act," she said a little more gently, sitting back down on the sofa next to him, placing a hand on his arm. "Ardeth wanted a look at the artifacts too, so I pretended to be ill, and he's serving as Evy's translator." She sat back with a satisfied grin, as if she had explained everything.

Obviously, she hadn't.

"So you're really not sick, Aunt Meg?"

"Why does Evy need someone to translate artifacts?"

"Wait a second." Rick held up a hand, silencing everyone. He looked at Margaret. "Ardeth is here? Ardeth Bay?" She nodded. "And he's with Evelyn?" She nodded again. Rick let out a long sigh and sat down. His wife was safe, then. That was the most important thing.

"Okay," he said. "Now, go back to the beginning. And tell us what's going on."

So she did. She told them about the artifacts being hidden, about the arrangements she had made with Dr. Hassid to see them privately, and about meeting up with Ardeth again. She had pulled the cloak onto her lap, stroking the collar of it absently as she talked, the gesture not going unnoticed by Rick.

He nodded as she finished her story. "So now we just wait for Evy to get back." 

Margaret nodded. "Ardeth said he would see her safely home. I'm sure between the two of them, they'll be able to tell if the artifacts are real."

***

"They're real," Evelyn said excitedly, perched on the edge of the sofa, a cup of tea in her hands. Jonathan and Margaret had moved the tea things out into the parlor when Ardeth and Evelyn had arrived. Alex was sent to bed, and now the adults gathered in the small front room to talk over the evening's events. The tea sat mostly neglected on the table. The women each had a cup, while Rick and Jonathan both stuck with their whiskies, and Ardeth took nothing at all.

"You're sure, then?" Margaret asked. "You were able to tell that they weren't forgeries?"

"They are genuine," Ardeth said. "But they are not all from Hamunaptra." Surprised by his statement, the others looked to Evelyn for confirmation. She frowned.

"That's true," she said with a sigh. "It's a huge lot, and the pieces are all being sold together. If I want any one thing in there, I have to take them all."

"So what's in there?" Rick asked. "Anything that's going to raise the dead?"

"Or wipe out the world?" Jonathan asked his glass sullenly.

"Well," Evelyn began. "There are some pieces that could be from anywhere, really. Your basic golden chalices, jeweled chests. Some embalming tools from a _sar-netjer_. Those weren't the important things, though." She leaned forward a little, her voice lowering dramatically, as if she was telling a ghost story around a campfire. "There is a brazier that bears a winged scarab, that I know I remember seeing in one of the inner chambers. And some swords and spears that have the seal of Seti I on them. The same seal that is on the Key. Those are real; Ardeth and I both recognized the cartouche." She looked to the Medjai, and he nodded once.

"And the dagger," he said quietly. Evelyn sighed.

"Yes, I know."

"Dagger?" Rick frowned. "What dagger?" Margaret and Jonathan exchanged alarmed looks.

"I don't like the sound of that," Jonathan muttered.

"Nor do I," Margaret said softly.

"It's nothing," Evelyn began.

"That is not what you said before," Ardeth interrupted, and she reddened a bit.

"Yes, well…I was a little surprised, that's all. To-- to see it again."

"See what again?" Rick was quickly losing patience with this conversation. 

Evelyn studied the teacup in her hands, and then slowly set it down. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked over at Rick. "There was a ceremonial dagger in a glass case. They wouldn't take it out, so we couldn't examine it as much as we'd like. But I'm sure I recognized it. It was the one--" her voice faltered, and she had to clear her throat. "Imhotep had it," she finally said. "In Hamunaptra. The first time. When I was chained to that altar, and he--" she stopped speaking. No one asked her to continue. She had begun to shake, just a little bit, and Rick pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair.

"It's okay," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. Margaret looked over at them from her place in the armchair, wringing her hands just a little in sympathy. She tilted her head up to look at Ardeth, who stood just to the left of her chair.

"Is it the same one?" she asked him softly. "Do you know for certain?" His eyes also on Rick and Evelyn, he shook his head.

"I cannot know for sure," he replied, just as quietly. "But judging from Evelyn's reaction, I would have to guess that it is."

Rick met Ardeth's eyes over Evelyn's head. "So what's the plan?"

The Medjai frowned. "The artifacts are well guarded. I have a few men with me, but I do not know if we could overpower the guards before they alerted more."

"They have round-the-clock guards? Over a bunch of old spears?" Rick looked dubious. "What we'll need to do is go in at something like three in the morning. If there's anyone there at that hour, they'll be getting tired, and probably a little sloppy. We obviously need to take the dagger. Is there anything else important?"

Ardeth shrugged. "It is hard to say. The brazier, perhaps. It is large, though. It would probably take the both of us to carry it."

"Right." Rick thought a moment. "Okay, you and I will get the brazier. Jonathan, you'll grab the case with the dagger--"

"Now hold on a minute. Who says that I'm going in there?"

"I do. Now, Ardeth, how many men do you--"  


"Gentlemen?" Evelyn's voice, much stronger now, cut through the discussion. She had pushed away from her husband, and now sat up straight again on the sofa. She shook her head at them with a bemused expression on her face, as if they were all children and she was amused by their games. "If you're done planning your adventure in larceny, may I make a suggestion?" Not waiting for a response, she continued. "There's this little thing tomorrow called an 'auction.' The lot from Hamunaptra is going to go on the block. And it just so happens," she said, raising an eyebrow as the sarcasm in her voice thickened, "that I am registered for this auction. Perhaps it would be a good idea for me to go, and, with Margaret's help of course, bid on these items? That is why I'm here, after all."

Ardeth frowned. "You may not win."

"I doubt that very much. The Museum hasn't had a new batch of ancient Egyptian artifacts since Rick brought some over from Cairo, and that was over two years ago. The Bembridge Scholars want these very badly. I have been authorized to spend a good deal of money, if necessary, to acquire them. And besides that, I'm prepared to spend some of our money too, if that's what it takes." She lifted her chin bravely. "We will get them. Don't worry about that."

Ardeth regarded her for a few moments, then nodded. "Good."

With that, the meeting seemed to end. Margaret helped Evelyn clear away the tea things, and Jonathan put the chair he had been sitting on back in the dining room, along with the one Ardeth had never used. Ardeth and Rick exchanged a few more words, and then Ardeth turned to go.

Someone caught his arm in the foyer. Ardeth turned to see Margaret standing there, his cloak folded over her arm. "Don't forget this," she said with a smile, offering it to him.

He returned her smile. "Of course not." He took the cloak from her, unfolding it with a shake and settling it around his shoulders.

"And thank you," she said. She blushed a little and looked down to the floor, over to the wall, almost anywhere but directly at him. "For being my 'valiant protector' tonight." She smiled again and finally looked at him. "It was a very good act."

"It was no act." The smile all but vanished from his face, and he was suddenly very serious. He took her hand and bowed over it, much like he had the night they had said goodbye in Cairo. But instead of kissing it, he straightened and covered her hand with his other one. He stepped infinitesimally closer, catching her eyes with his. "I am glad to be there," he said softly. "Whenever you have need of me." He pressed her hand between his for a moment longer, and then he was gone.

***

Evelyn emerged from the kitchen, walking towards the front hallway to say goodnight to Ardeth. She stopped short suddenly as the foyer came into sight. She fell back a step, hoping her shoes weren't making any noise. Ardeth and Margaret were standing very close together, and he held one of her hands in both of his. He said something, too low for Evelyn to hear, and a few moments later he turned and walked out the door. Margaret stood still for a few seconds, then walked to the door and looked out.

Evelyn backed quickly but quietly out of the hallway and back into the parlor. She sat down on the sofa with a pleased smile on her face. Her mind drifted back a few hours, to the reception. Ardeth and Margaret were crossing the ballroom, and had nearly reached her when Margaret had suddenly stumbled, her knees seeming to buckle beneath her. Ardeth had reacted almost instinctively, catching her in his arms as she swooned. Alarmed, Evelyn had hurried to Margaret's side, and the younger woman had winked at her. Evelyn realized then that this was how they were going to explain Ardeth serving as her interpreter. Evelyn had been impressed; she hadn't figured Margaret for an actress. A great fuss was made: Ardeth had whipped off his black and silver cloak with a flourish, wrapping it securely around the "ill" woman, while Evelyn had arranged for their driver to take Margaret home. It had all been very well acted, Evelyn had thought.

But now, sitting in the parlor, Evelyn wondered how much of Ardeth's concern had been an act. Judging from what she had just seen by the front door, not very much.

"What are you smiling at?" Rick asked, sitting beside her on the sofa, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, her smile going even wider. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

She leaned her head on her husband's shoulder with a contented sigh. "About how wonderful it is to be in love."


	5. The Artifacts and a Hundred and Five Tho...

Author's Note: I don't know crap about fine art/antique auctions

Author's Note: I don't know crap about fine art/antique auctions. My knowledge of them is limited to a couple books I read that had auction scenes in them, and short visits to the Sotheby's and the Christie's websites. But I'm not making a documentary. I'm writing a fanfiction story. And in my little world, this is how an auction in the '30s in Egypt would have gone. I'm probably wrong. Try real hard to get over it. 

Oh, and "Precious Things" is also the name of a really good song by Tori Amos. But it's got nothing to do with this story, except that it's been playing almost constantly in my head when I sit down to work on it. My use of that title is totally coincidental.

*** 

Chapter Five

Evelyn almost didn't bring Margaret with her to the auction. The younger woman had seemed a little nervous at breakfast, and Evelyn didn't want to make her face crowds twice in two days. But when Evelyn had been almost ready to go, Margaret had appeared in her room to borrow some hairpins. She was dressed to leave, in a feminine suit similar to the one Evelyn wore. "You never know," she had said. "Maybe I'll pick up on something you can't."

So now the two of them sat in the crowded room, where chairs were arranged in cramped rows. It was hot; people fanned themselves with their little wooden paddles and their catalogs. Dr. Hassid, the rotund curator that they had met last night, stood up at the burnished wood podium, giving an impassioned speech. And Evelyn couldn't understand a word of it. 

But thank God Margaret could. She leaned forward a little in the wooden folding chair, catalog dangling forgotten in her hand. She listened intently, and murmured in English to Evelyn at regular intervals. For the most part, it was a speech welcoming the guests and explaining the rules of the auction. Evelyn didn't really need to know much of what he said. But she knew that she would have felt completely lost without Margaret there to confirm that for her. She'd had no idea that this whole auction would be conducted in Arabic. She wondered if that was to discourage the Westerners, so as many of the artifacts as possible could be kept in Egypt.

The speech over, Margaret sat back, tucking back a stray lock of hair that had escaped her bun. She looked at Evelyn with a smile, and Evelyn couldn't help but smile back. Rick had wanted Margaret to come out of her shell, and it certainly seemed to be happening. She thought back again to what she had seen last night between Margaret and Ardeth in the foyer. She longed to ask Margaret about it, but decided that now was not the time. The auction was about to begin.

***

Things moved very quickly. Lots came up, were bid on, and came down with a speed that amazed them both. They followed along in the catalog as much as they could, but it all went so quickly that Evelyn had a hard time keeping up, even with Margaret doing the translating. She bid on a few lesser lots, Margaret muttering the prices under her breath as the numbers climbed higher. A couple of hours went by, and there was no sign of the lot from Hamunaptra. As time went on, people started to leave as they lost interest or ran out of money. The air in the room grew a little cooler as the crowd thinned, but was still humid and stale. During a pause between lots, Evelyn drew a deep breath, fidgeting a little in her chair. She glanced around the room at the people who were left, and her attention was caught by a man sitting a few rows ahead and to the right. He looked familiar, but she couldn't place him. He was an attractive man, with short blond hair. She knew that she had seen him before, but where?

"Meg," she murmured, "Look at that man. Doesn't he look familiar?" Margaret looked in the direction Evelyn indicated, and her face paled. Then she reddened a bit.

"I--I'm not sure," she said, the blush creeping up the back of her neck.

And then Evelyn knew exactly who he was. She could see him now, in her mind's eye, in a tuxedo with a glass of champagne in his hand. She'd seen him the evening before at the reception, talking to Margaret. Evelyn grinned. First this blond stranger, then Ardeth-- Margaret was indeed coming out of her shell! She settled back in the increasingly uncomfortable chair with a smug expression. It was on the tip of her tongue to tease Margaret about her "conquests," but she didn't think that she should risk Margaret's face turning any redder. The poor girl might actually spontaneously combust.

Margaret's eyes went back to the stage suddenly, the blush fading from her face. Evelyn followed her gaze. Two men had brought out a large brazier with a winged scarab relief, and a third man carried a small glass case with a golden ceremonial dagger. It seemed the lot from Hamunaptra was up for bid at last. Margaret leaned forward, concentrating on the Arabic words, while Evelyn sat up straight, her suddenly clammy hands gripping the wooden paddle.

"Bidding starts at five thousand pounds," Margaret said. Evelyn, along with a great many others still left in the room, held up her wooden paddle, indicating her interest.

"Six thou-- seven." Evelyn's hand remained up, but a couple others dropped.

"Eight. Ten thousand pounds." Evelyn glanced around. She noticed for the first time that the blond man was holding up a paddle. He wanted them too. How unfortunate for him, she thought with a small smile.

Margaret almost jumped in her seat. "Up to fifteen," she said with a surprised glance at Evelyn. "Twenty. My, the numbers are jumping fa--twenty-five. Thirty."

A lot of wooden paddles had dropped by this time. Evelyn's stayed up, and so did the blond man's. As the numbers climbed, paddles fell one at a time until only those two remained.

"Sixty." Margaret's voice was as low and quiet as ever, but her slightly flushed face and sped-up breathing gave away her excitement. That lock of hair had escaped from her bun again, hanging untouched down her cheek and brushing the collar of her jacket. "Seventy thousand pounds." Evelyn's hand was beginning to shake a little from holding the paddle up for so long. But she couldn't waver, couldn't let it drop. For that would put her out of the running.

"Eighty. Eighty-five."

Evelyn's whole arm was shaking now. Without taking her eyes off the front of the room, Margaret reached over and took the paddle, her fingers wrapping around Evelyn's. The two women held it up straight as the bidding continued to climb.

"He's not dropping out," Evelyn whispered. Margaret shook her head once, intent on the auctioneer.   
  
"One hundred thousand pounds." Both women held their breath as the blond man's hand wavered, his paddle dipping slightly.

"One hundred five." And his paddle fell. Evelyn let out a gasp of thankfulness.

"One hundred five once," Margaret's voice quivered with barely reined in excitement. "Twice…" she turned to Evelyn, grinning. "Sold to Dr. O'Connell of the British Museum for one hundred five thousand pounds. We did it, Evy. We won!" 

Evelyn dropped her arm with a relieved sigh, her hand tingling a little as the blood rushed back into it. Margaret still held the paddle, looking a little stunned by their victory. Rubbing her arm, Evelyn looked over towards the blond man and caught her breath. He was looking right at them, his eyes intent on Margaret. He was angry. No, Evelyn thought, he was beyond angry. Despite the closeness of the room and the heat of the day, Evelyn suddenly felt very, very cold.

***

Standing virtually unnoticed in the back of the auction hall, Ardeth Bay watched the bidding, his arms folded across his chest. His sharp eyes had picked out the blond man almost immediately, and Ardeth frowned when that man became the main competitor in the auction. He divided his attention between the stranger and Evelyn and Margaret during the bidding. He saw Evelyn start to falter, and Margaret take the paddle, assisting her. He allowed himself a small smile as the winner was announced, but that smile quickly faded when he saw the blond man look back at the two women. Margaret still held the paddle, while Evelyn sat back in her chair. As the auction ended and people stirred to leave, Ardeth turned on his heel and left the hall. Evelyn had won the auction, and that was good. But Ardeth had the feeling that their task was not yet over.

***

As they stood to go, Margaret saw a flutter of black at the back of the room. She looked up in time to see Ardeth turn and leave the room. For a second her heart pounded a little harder, and she caught her breath.

"I'll be right back," she said over her shoulder to Evelyn. Without waiting for a response, she hurried to the back of the room and out the door. She had the strangest desire to speak to Ardeth, but she wasn't sure what she wanted to say. She hoped she'd think of it by the time she caught up to him.

When she reached the hallway, he was gone. She looked up one end of the hallway, then turned and looked down the other. There was no sign of a retreating figure in black. She stood in the middle of the hallway, as departing auction attendees swarmed around and past her. Had she imagined him? Confused, she turned to re-enter the auction room to rejoin Evelyn.

A strong hand fastened itself to her forearm, its grip so tight she nearly cried out. She looked up to see the blond-haired man from the night before, the one who had been bidding against them the whole time. 

"Looking for your bodyguard? Your warrior in black to save you, like he did last night?" he asked. He looked mockingly up and down the hallway. "Don't see him. Looks like it's just the two of us.

"Well, then," he continued. "Dr. O'Connell of the British Museum. I'm not sure why I'm surprised at that. I suppose I should have expected you, now, shouldn't I?" His voice was different; it had none of the aristocratic charm of the night before. Now it was a sharp American rasp, and Margaret almost winced to hear it.

"Tell me, Dr. O'Connell." He continued to speak, practically spitting the name. "What do you plan to do with these artifacts? Bring other monsters back from the dead, kill more people, ruin more lives?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Margaret said, her voice shaking with quiet fear. "I'm not Dr. O'--"

"Those artifacts are _mine_!" he interrupted. His grip on her arm was so tight that she could practically feel her bones grinding together. "You will give them to me, or I will destroy your family. Just as you destroyed mine." He released her with a violent push. She fell back a couple steps, bracing herself against the wall. Holding her arm, she watched him stalk away, soon losing sight of him in the crowd.

"Everything all right?" She heard Evelyn's voice over her shoulder, and she turned to see her sister-in-law standing in the doorway. "Who were you talking to?"

Margaret looked into the hallway one more time. The man was gone. His words still rang in her head, frightening her. 

"No one," she said dully. "Are we ready to go?" 

***

Ardeth walked out of the curator's office and back towards the auction room. Dr. Hassid had not been there, and among his papers Ardeth had not found the information he was looking for. His mind raced as he made his way back to where he had left Evelyn and Margaret. There were other ways of finding out what he needed to know. But perhaps the curator himself would be more forthcoming. He would try again tomorrow.

Ardeth stopped in his tracks, frozen for a split second. Margaret stood in the crowded hallway, and that blond man stood with her, holding her arm so tightly Ardeth was almost surprised that it did not break. His face was close to hers, twisted with hatred as he spoke, words Ardeth was too far away to hear. The Medjai's face darkened and he slipped through the crowd, hastening to Margaret's side. Before he was halfway there, the man released her and turned away, stalking off in the opposite direction from Ardeth. Margaret leaned against the wall for a moment, holding her injured arm, and then Evelyn appeared in the doorway. The two women talked for a moment, and then returned back into the emptying auction room. 

Margaret was all right, then. Ardeth nodded once, and then he was off, striding in the direction taken by the blond man. Yes, there was more than one way of getting the information he needed. And following this man, finding out who he was and what he wanted, was one of those ways.


	6. A Preserved Reputation and a Well-Timed ...

Either More of Chapter Five or Chapter Six

Chapter Six

"So, it's done?" Rick asked.

"It's done!" Evelyn replied with an exultant smile. "The artifacts from Hamunaptra now belong to the British Museum." She poured wine into three glasses, handing one to Rick before crossing the room with the other two. She handed one to Margaret, who was sitting in the armchair, looking thoughtful. The women had arrived home from the auction a little while ago, and Evelyn definitely seemed in the mood to celebrate, which Rick was always glad to see. Margaret, however, was a little subdued, even more so than usual. She had removed the jacket of her suit and then sat, barely moving, lost in thought, for the better part of an hour.

"You all right, Meg?" Rick asked. She nodded absently, taking a sip of wine before she put the glass down on the side table.

"Where's Alex?" she asked suddenly. Rick waved a hand, vaguely indicating the outdoors. 

"Oh, I dunno. He and Jonathan went off somewhere. Left a couple hours ago, they should be back before too long."

"Oh," was all Margaret said in reply. She picked up her wineglass and put it down again without drinking from it. She got out of her chair and walked to the window, looking out. "And Hannah's asleep upstairs?"

"Yes." Rick drew the word out into at least three syllables. He looked at Evelyn with raised eyebrows. Evelyn shrugged, sipping her wine. "Meg?" He walked over to stand behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. Margaret jumped at his touch and whirled around, her eyes wide. "Hey, take it easy!" Rick put his hands up in the air in a peacekeeping gesture.

Margaret took a deep breath and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, Rick. I didn't mean to--"

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been jumpy ever since you two got home from the auction. Now, do you want to tell me why?"

"Does it have something to do with that man?" Evelyn asked from her perch on the arm of the sofa.

Margaret stared at Evelyn. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. "How do you-- I mean, what man?"

Evelyn set down her glass. "You know who I'm talking about," she answered, not unkindly. "That blond man at the auction. The one who bid against us. He looked none too happy to have lost. Do you know him?"

"Know him?" Margaret started to shake her head, but stopped. She sighed, looking down at the floor. "No," she finally said. "I don't know him. He started a conversation with me last night, though. At the reception. And then today, he--"

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. She jumped and looked out of the window again, even though she couldn't see the front door from her vantage point. Rick went to answer the door. Evelyn looked curiously at Margaret, who stayed focused on the view out of the window.

Rick re-entered the room, Ardeth Bay beside him. Evelyn stood up to greet him, but he didn't even look in her direction. Instead, he strode across the room directly to Margaret, the expression on his face so severe that she shrank away from him, her back pressed against the window.

"Who is Stephen Daniels? What does he want with you?" His voice was low, distinct, and incredibly dangerous.

Margaret looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. "What? I don't know who you're---"

"Yes, you do." Ardeth's voice cut through her confused protest. He continued to speak slowly and distinctly, as if he was speaking to a child. "I have seen you speak to him twice, both last night and today. Both times he has threatened you. Who is he?"

"Are you talking about the blond man?" Evelyn asked. "From the auction?"

"Yes." Ardeth answered her question, but did not take his eyes off of Margaret. "Who is he?"

"I don't know--" Margaret began frantically.

"Wait. Threatened?" Rick interrupted, blinking in surprise. "Meg, some guy's been threatening you?"

Ardeth's expression shifted, from barely controlled anger to barely controlled angry disbelief. He looked at Rick for a split second, then turned back to Margaret, his eyes boring into hers. "You have not told them?"

"Told us what?" Rick persisted. Ardeth did not answer the question; he just continued to look at Margaret.

"I--" her voice faltered under his scrutiny. She dropped her eyes, trying to avoid his gaze. "I didn't want to bother anyone," she said softly. "I didn't think it was important. I didn't know--"

Ardeth's hand shot out and seized Margaret's wrist, pulling her towards him. The sudden action startled her into silence. Before anyone could react, he grasped the sleeve of her blouse with both hands. He pulled hard at the cuff, popping off the buttons that held it closed. Holding her wrist again, he pushed the loosened sleeve up her arm, baring it to the elbow. Rick and Evelyn stared in shock. An angry red mark marred her forearm, already beginning to turn an ugly purple.

"He did this," Ardeth said, his voice still deadly quiet. "After the auction. In the hallway. Did he not?" Margaret tried to pull away, but he held her fast. "Did he not?" he repeated. He never raised his voice, but it was still more frightening than any shout.

"Yes." Her voice was tiny in the room, like a mouse creeping across the carpet.

"What?" Rick was incredulous. "Meg, why didn't you tell us?"

Evelyn stared at Margaret's arm. "He did this to you? But I thought--" She couldn't finish her sentence. Instead, she sat back down on the sofa and picked up her wineglass.

"This man hurts you and you say nothing?" Ardeth demanded. "Why? What are you hiding?"

"I was just about to!" Her anguished cry stopped them all from speaking. None of them had ever heard Margaret raise her voice before. She looked at Evelyn, her eyes pleading. "Wasn't I? Just now? I was just getting ready to tell you about him. I'm not hiding anything." She now looked at Ardeth, her whole expression demanding that he believe her. "He never told me his name. I didn't know who he was. I still don't."

"But he threatened you," Rick said. "After the auction. That's why you've been so nervous." Margaret nodded.

"What did he say to you?" Evelyn asked.

Moving deliberately, Margaret pulled her wrist out of Ardeth's grasp and crossed the room away from him, picking up the wineglass she had left. She took a shaking breath. "It didn't make any sense," she began. "First of all, he thought that I was you, Evy. He knew who you were. He said these awful things…" Her fingers worried the stem of the wineglass as she spoke. She looked haunted, like she wanted to put her hands over her ears and shut out the world.

Ardeth took a step towards Margaret. "What did he say?" His voice had lost its dangerous edge, but she still flinched a little at the sound of it, as if she was afraid that he would strike her. She set the wineglass down again and sank back into the armchair, looking at the rug.

"He accused me…well, I guess he really accused _you_, Evy. Of these terrible things. Killing people, ruining lives. He hates me…you. He said you would use the artifacts from Hamunaptra to raise more monsters from the dead." She raised her eyes briefly to look at Evelyn, who wore a shocked expression.

"Oh, my God."

"That doesn't make sense," Rick said. "He knows about Evelyn, and he knows what happened at Hamunaptra, but doesn't know what she looks like? And what does he mean, 'killing people'?"

Evelyn looked at Ardeth with wide eyes. "What was his name again?" she asked.

"Daniels," Ardeth replied. "Stephen Daniels."

Hand shaking, Evelyn set her wineglass down. She looked at Rick. "Daniels," was all she said.

Rick looked equally shocked. "Daniels," he repeated.

Ardeth looked from one to the other. "Now this name means something to you?"

Rick nodded slowly. "Ed Daniels," he said. "He was one of the American crew at Hamunaptra. The first time. One of the guys who found and opened that chest. One of the guys that Imhotep killed." He sat down on the sofa next to Evelyn. "He was the last one to go," he continued. He glanced up at Ardeth. "He was with us, at the museum in Cairo, remember? And then in the car, the mob pulled him out, and--" he stopped speaking then, and just looked at his hands.

Ardeth nodded. "I remember," he said quietly. "I never knew his name." 

"So this Stephen fellow," Evelyn said. "He must be a relative or something."

"He is." They all looked at Margaret. She continued to look studiously at the rug, avoiding their eyes. "He has to be. He said that you destroyed his family," she said slowly, rubbing her hurt arm. "And that if you did not give him the artifacts, he would destroy yours as well."

"Oh, God, " Evelyn breathed, her face pale. She looked up at Rick, who turned to stare angrily out the window.

"I'd like to see him try," he rumbled, wrapping an arm around his wife.

Ardeth thought for a moment. "When do the artifacts come into your possession?"

"Tomorrow," Evelyn murmured, leaning into Rick. "They said they would be delivered tomorrow morning."

The Medjai chieftain nodded. "Good. I will have my men here then. We will take them out of the city as soon as we can, and you will go home. When Daniels realizes that you do not have them, it is likely that he will no longer come after you."

"Wait." Evelyn blinked a couple of times, then looked up at Ardeth. "What are you talking about? You're not taking the artifacts. They belong to the British Museum."

Now it was Ardeth's turn to look confused, an expression the Medjai did not usually wear. "No," he finally said. "Those artifacts are from the City of the Dead. The Medjai are sworn to protect them. That is why I came to Alexandria. To collect the artifacts and bring them back."

Evelyn pushed away from Rick to stand up. "Well, I also came to Alexandria for these artifacts. And the British Museum has bought and paid for them. I can't just give them to you. What am I going to tell the Bembridge Scholars when they want to know what they got for one hundred five thousand pounds?"

"That is not important," Ardeth began, but Evelyn interrupted him.

"Perhaps not to you. But I happen to like my position very much, and if I have nothing to show for this trip, I will be sacked. Do you have any idea," she asked, color heightening in her cheeks as she upbraided the stern chieftain just as if she would scold her brother, "how hard I have worked for my reputation? This would ruin me."

"Your reputation," Ardeth retorted, "seems to be the problem here. If it were not for your reputation for tampering with artifacts, no grieving relatives would be seeking revenge against you for raising Creatures from the dead."

Evelyn's face reddened, her mouth set in a tight line. "I will do nothing with these artifacts, and you know that, Ardeth." Her voice was clipped now, and very cold. "I simply want to display them in the Museum, where others can enjoy their beauty and their history. That is where they belong. Not carried back to the desert, dumped in a sandpit, and guarded by grim-faced warriors for the next three thousand years."

A small cry from upstairs got everyone's attention. All four heads swiveled to the staircase.

"Hannah," Evelyn said. "She's awake."

"I'll go," Margaret spoke up, rising to her feet. She cast a glance in Ardeth's direction. "That is, of course, if I have no more questions from my interrogator?" His face was stony as she met his gaze, but he did not say a word. She looked at him steadily for a few moments, saying nothing, then turned and left the parlor, walking up the stairs. Ardeth followed her with his eyes until she reached the upper landing and he could no longer see her.

For a few moments, the room was quiet. Then Rick spoke up from where he still sat on the sofa.

"Evelyn," he began carefully. "Ardeth has a point here. Remember at home? Before we left? I thought we agreed that these artifacts would be better off with the Medjai."

Evelyn sighed. "Yes, I know we said that, but--"

"And the only reason we were going to take them with us was because we didn't know how to contact Ardeth to give them to him?" He stood, waving a hand in the Medjai's direction. "Well, there he is."

"But Rick, the Bembridge Scholars--"

"I don't care!" Rick paced around the room. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I don't give a goddamn about the Bembridge Scholars and what they might want. Four years ago, I lost my wife, and I almost lost my son. I have since then gained a sister and a daughter, and nothing will ever happen to them. Not while there is something that I can do about it. I don't care about the money. I will give every last cent I have to the British Museum if it means that I never have to look at a single thing from Hamunaptra ever again."

Evelyn stared at her husband, shock evident on her face. "Rick," she began, her voice very small.

"Enough." Ardeth's voice suddenly sounded very tired. "My friends," he said. "We have known each other for a great many years. Too long to be squabbling now like children. A great deal has happened this day." His eyes drifted to the stairs as he spoke, and he looked up to the second floor briefly. Then he returned his attention to Rick and Evelyn. "I will leave you now, and return tomorrow. We will talk more then." 

Rick nodded. Evelyn, feeling a little chastened, looked to the floor, her face still a little pink. Without another word, the Medjai chieftain left the house. Slowly, Evelyn raised her eyes to her husband.

"I'm sorry, Rick."

He walked over to his wife and pulled her close. "I am, too." They held each other for a few moments, comforting each other.

The front door banged open. Rick and Evelyn jumped apart and whirled to face the front hallway. Alex bounded into the room, followed closely by Jonathan.

"You're back!"

"How was the auction?" Jonathan asked. 

Evelyn sighed and shook her head. "We won," she replied flatly. 


	7. A Large Enough Bed

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The artifacts were delivered early the next morning. Alex had just rolled out of bed and sat down to breakfast with his family when deliverymen arrived with four huge crates. Alex could barely contain his excitement, abandoning his eggs to follow them. He watched as his father directed the men, who deposited the crates in a small room off the kitchen. To Alex's vast disappointment, his father didn't open even one of them. He simply returned to the dining room, where the maid, Claudia, finished setting out the breakfast. His mom had just finished feeding his little sister, and Claudia took Hannah upstairs to get her dressed.

"But can't I see them, Dad?" Alex asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in the doorway, not yet wanting to sit back down.

"No." His dad's voice was firm, and had that don't-you-dare-argue-with-me tone that Alex knew meant the end of the discussion. The boy sighed and dropped himself back into his chair next to his Aunt Meg, who was buttering his toast for him.

"Never mind, Alex," she said, whispering to him as she leaned over to put his toast on his plate. "I've seen them. Trust me, they're not very exciting."

Alex scowled down at his toast, looking remarkably like his Uncle Jonathan.

At the other end of the table, his mother drained her teacup, and set it back in its saucer with a firm clink of porcelain. "Alex," she said, "I am going to need your help today."

"Yeah?" The boy's expression brightened considerably. 

His mother nodded. "I need to go down to the docks today. I need to arrange for those big boxes to be delivered home. How would you like to go with me?"

"Great!" Eggs forgotten again, Alex started to bound out of his chair, but his father's voice made him hesitate.

"Evy?" He still had that don't-argue-with-me tone that Alex didn't like to hear. That tone didn't seem to affect his mother, though. She lifted her chin and looked across the table at his dad.

"They are going back to England," she said quietly. His mom and dad looked at each other for a very long time. At least it seemed that way to Alex. Something seemed to be going on. He couldn't tell what, but it gave him a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach.

"Come on, Alex," his mother said, but she wasn't looking at him. She was still looking at his dad.

"Jonathan." His dad's voice still sounded the same, and Alex wished it wouldn't. Alex's uncle looked up from his plate. "Go with them."

"Rick, don't start," his mother said. "We're going to be fine."

Now Alex knew there was something going on. But no one was telling him.

"Go with them," his father repeated.

"Go, Jonathan," Aunt Meg said quietly. "Please."

Jonathan looked from Alex's dad to Alex's mother. He shrugged.

"Feel up for some company, old mum?"

She sighed, and turned her annoyed look into a tight smile. "Certainly," she said. She looked over at her son finally. "Alex?"

Alex followed his mother and his uncle out of the dining room. He knew in his head that he should be excited. He hadn't yet been to the docks, and this promised to be an exciting adventure. He just wished his stomach would stop feeling so queasy. It was probably for the best that he hadn't eaten those eggs.

***

The dining room was very quiet after they left. Rick and Margaret looked at each other for a few moments, then silently finished their breakfast. Finally Rick sighed.

"I don't know what to do, Meg." His voice was very quiet, and sounded a little lost. 

Margaret shook her head, putting down her teacup. "What can you do, Rick?" she asked. "I hate to say it, but it seems like Evelyn's going to do whatever she wants to do, regardless of what anyone else says."

He nodded, staring very hard at the centerpiece. "What can I do?" he repeated. He slammed his hands down on the table, so loudly that Margaret jumped in her chair. He stood up, palms flat on the table. "I need to stop her. We're not taking those artifacts home. I don't even want them here in this house; I don't want them anywhere near my kids."

"I understand. You know that I feel the same way." Margaret waved a hand towards the door. "Go. See if you can catch up with her at the docks. I'll stay here with Hannah."

"You will? You sure you don't mind?" But he was already out of the dining room, striding through the parlor. Swallowing a chuckle, Margaret got up and followed him.

"Of course I'm sure," she said as they reached the foyer. "Now get going. See if you can talk to her. Maybe--" her voice died in her throat as Rick opened the front door. Ardeth Bay stood there. She closed her mouth with an audible click of her teeth, falling back a step or two into the front hallway.

Rick, however, hardly broke his stride. "Great," he said. "You're already here. Wonderful. You're coming with me."

"Where?" Ardeth asked Rick, but his eyes flickered to Margaret as he spoke. Their eyes locked for a moment. Then she looked down, breaking the contact, and retreated back into the house.

"To the docks," Rick clapped a hand onto the Medjai's shoulder. "Evelyn's trying to go over your head. Or behind your back. Something. Doesn't matter. Those artifacts are yours, and I'm going to see that you get them. Now let's go." Rick started down the front steps. Ardeth glanced at the house once more before falling into step with his friend.

***

If not for the heat of the morning, Margaret might have thought herself back in England. She didn't mind the heat; having lived in Egypt most of her life. She was used to the warmer climate, and in fact spent most of her time in England with a shawl around her shoulders. Her blood was thin, she supposed, from all the years spent living on the edge of a desert. She often wondered how long it would take her to get used to England's colder, damper climate. It had already been two years-- shouldn't that be enough?

In all other respects, however, it was a very ordinary morning. Everyone was off, involved in one activity or another, and she and Hannah were alone. That never bothered Margaret, for she adored the little girl, who had her father's big blue eyes and her mother's dark brown curls. Hannah spent most of the morning playing in the house's small back garden, while Margaret sat on the back stoop, knitting needles flashing, and Claudia washed the breakfast dishes.

But naps were always difficult. It was hard enough to talk her into a nap in England, but it was especially difficult here, where the late morning began to truly show the heat of the day. Hannah resisted all attempts to be put in her cradle; Margaret could tell that the little girl found it to be too confining. She couldn't blame her, really. The day was shaping up to be very warm; open windows and drawn shades did nothing to alleviate the stickiness that pervaded the house. Margaret ran a finger around the collar of her dress, pulling at it a little, trying to circulate some air to cool herself off. She was marginally successful.

She looked down at Hannah, who was looking back up with a mutinous glare. "We could read," she suggested. "Would you like that?" Normally, Hannah would jump at this; she loved her big picture books. She liked to turn the pages, and babble a story as if she were really reading. But now she shook her head, her eyes going back to the hated cradle. Margaret followed her gaze.

"Oh, never mind that," she said with a dismissive wave. "Come on. We'll go in my room." Margaret scooped up a picture book, and took the little girl's hand. "My bed's much more comfortable than yours. Maybe we'll both take a nap. What do you think?" Chewing thoughtfully on a finger, Hannah allowed herself to be led out of the large bedroom and down the hall, to the smaller one on the end.

Margaret's room was a little cooler, not being on the corner of the house like the master bedroom was. The shades had been drawn all day, so the sun had not had a chance to heat up the room; streaks of sunlight peeked through the gaps in the little wooden slats. The room was warm, certainly, but not unbearable by any means. Hannah clearly liked Margaret's room. She climbed up onto Margaret's bed by herself and settled against the pillows. Normally, Margaret sat in a chair by the little girl's bed when she read to her. But today, she kicked off her shoes instead and climbed into bed next to the little girl. The two heads bent together, with the big book spread over both their laps.

A noise from downstairs interrupted the flow of Margaret's reading. She frowned; was that a knock on the front door? She couldn't tell, but she should probably check. She couldn't even remember if Claudia was there, or if she had gone out. She glanced down at Hannah. The combination of the warm day and the book had made the little girl drowsy. She kissed the top of her head and smoothed a little brown curl, then slid off the bed. Shoes still off and picture book in hand, she slipped quietly out of the room and towards the stairs.

She had reached the top of the stairs when she saw Claudia in the parlor, walking towards the door.

"Was that the front door, Claudia?" she called down. The woman glanced up the stairs at Margaret, who stood on the landing at the top of the staircase. 

"Yes, ma'am. I'm just going to answer it now. Don't trouble yourself by walking all the way down here," the maid answered with a smile, disappearing into the front hallway. Margaret lingered at the top of the stairs, wondering who was there. The artifacts had already been delivered, and Ardeth had gone with Rick. Who else could it possibly be?

"Good morning, I'm looking for Mr. and Mrs. O'Connell. Are they in?" The voice froze her blood, and for a second Margaret couldn't breathe. That voice had echoed in her head all last night: _I will destroy your family. Just as you destroyed mine._ It was that man, what had Ardeth called him? Daniels. She gripped the banister, torn between going downstairs to see what he wanted, and running away and hiding.

The voice continued. Margaret must have missed Claudia's reply to him. "Not in? That's very disappointing. Perhaps I can leave them a message?"

Margaret heard Claudia's reply this time. "Of course, sir." She would never forget it. It was the last thing she heard before the day shattered.

The explosive sound of a machine gun echoed through the house. Margaret jumped, dropping the picture book. A heartbeat later, there was a sickening thud. She couldn't see the front hallway from where she stood, but in the doorway to the parlor, she could see one hand, covered in blood. She stared in slowly growing horror as the floor around the hand turned red, the puddle spreading wider and wider, flowing into the parlor. She heard the thudding of boots as more than one person entered the house. She snatched up the picture book and slid backwards, pressing her back against the wall.

"They're here somewhere," Daniels' voice barked from the parlor. "Just look around. They're probably in big crates or something. And if you see anyone else, kill them too."

Keeping her back to the wall, Margaret crept down the hallway back to her bedroom. She was thankful now that she wasn't wearing her shoes, as her feet made no noise. Opening the door as quietly as she could, she slipped back inside and eased the door shut behind her. She looked at the dozing child on the bed.

They had to hide. In a few minutes, one of those men might come up the stairs, and Hannah would be dead. She had to hide the baby; what would Rick and Evelyn do if they came home and their little girl was dead? She looked around the small room. There wasn't even a closet; all of Margaret's clothes were in a cedar wardrobe against one wall. She looked at her niece again, fighting the urge to scream in terror. Where could they hide? Her gaze dropped to the floor, looking desperately at the space under the bed. Was there enough room?

There had to be. There was nowhere else to go. Dropping the book, she picked the little girl up in her arms. Hannah stirred with a small cry. Margaret shushed her.

"We're going to play a game, Hannah, all right?" She kept her voice low, and did her best to keep it from shaking. She forced a smile onto her face, although it felt unnatural there, like it was stretched across her skull. "We're going to play Hide and Seek," she continued. "You're so good at that game, I know you are."

The little girl came awake almost immediately, cheered by the thought of a game. "Idasee?" she asked, a little too loudly for Margaret's taste. She shushed her again.

"Yes, Hide and Seek. Come on. We're going to get under here--" She dropped to her knees, her arms wrapped around the little girl, and started to push her under the bed. Hannah fit in the space easily, and Margaret started to slide in after. Hannah giggled as Margaret had a harder time getting under the bed, but at last the two were safely hidden. Margaret scooted as much to the center of the small space as she could. She reached for Hannah, gathering the little girl into her arms, then curled protectively around the child, trying to make her tall body as small as she could.

"Now," she breathed into her curls. "We're going to stay here, and soon, your mum and dad are going to find us, all right? But we have to stay very quiet until then. We want to win, don't we?" The little girl nodded vigorously, and snuggled obediently into her aunt's arms. Margaret's heart thudded painfully, and she fought to breathe as shallowly as she could. Too deep a breath would stir the dust under the bed, and might make one of them sneeze, which would give them away. A tear fell down her cheek, plopping unnoticed into Hannah's hair, as Margaret listened to the sounds of the men downstairs, praying they wouldn't come up. Praying they wouldn't find them. Rick had done so much for her; she had to do this one thing for him. She had to keep his little girl safe.


	8. Safety and Reassurance

Ardeth took the stairs two at a time and kicked open the first door

Chapter Eight

The drive back to the house was rather quiet, and rather tense. Rick drove, while Evelyn fumed in the front seat. Their son sat in between them, looking uncomfortable. Evelyn was angry with just about everyone in the car, and had long since stopped meeting Ardeth's eyes. She felt betrayed; her husband and even her brother had sided against her at the docks. They all wanted Ardeth and his men to take the artifacts with them, so the Medjai could keep them safe. No one trusted her to supervise them properly in England, and that frustrated her. She was the curator of the British Museum, for heaven's sake! The Bembridge Scholars trusted her every single day with the contents of the entire museum. But her own family, those who were supposed to trust her the most, didn't trust her at all, as it turned out. Evelyn would cry if she were not so angry.

The car stopped in front of the house they were staying in; Rick didn't pull the car around the side, like he usually did. "Evy?" His voice sounded tentative, a little unsure. Arms still folded across her chest, she turned to look at her husband, another argument forming on her lips.

That argument died before she could say a word. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring up at the front door, and she followed his gaze. The door stood wide open in ominous invitation.

"What--" she started to say. 

But Rick was already getting out of the car. "Alex, stay here," he commanded. Ardeth had gotten out too, and Evelyn heard him open the boot of the car. She opened her door.

"But Dad, what's going--"

"Stay here, Alex." Evelyn echoed her husband, throwing a look at her brother. "Jonathan?" He nodded, reaching over from the back seat to clamp a hand on the boy's shoulder. She saw his other hand slide into his pocket. So he still carried his gambling pistol. Good. 

Evelyn ran to the house, catching up to Rick and Ardeth, who had stopped just inside the front door.

"What's happened--" was all she was able to get out before her brain took in the sight before her. The entire foyer was bloody. Spatters of blood caked the wallpaper. Blood had thoroughly soaked the small Oriental rug in the front hallway, obscuring the intricate pattern. But Evelyn wasn't looking at the blood. Not really. She was looking at the body crumpled on the floor in the front hallway.

"Claudia," she whispered. Who would kill their maid? She swayed a little, catching herself on the doorjamb. She tore her eyes away from Claudia's body to look at Rick. He had picked up a piece of paper that had been lying on the table by the door. His face darkened as he read it. Without looking, he thrust his hand backwards, trusting that someone would take the paper away from him. Ardeth and Evelyn grabbed for it at the same time. Their argument forgotten, they both held the paper and read it together. It was only one sentence, the letters slashing in black ink across the page:

**__**

You should not have left them alone.

Rick was already stalking through the parlor. "Hannah? Meg?" he shouted. In a few long strides, he was in the dining room, heading towards the kitchen and the back yard. He continued to call for his daughter and his sister, his tone growing increasingly frantic.

"'Left them alone,'" Evelyn breathed. She looked up at Ardeth, who looked equally stricken. "Hannah." Her lips could barely form the word. "Margaret." The paper fell from her fingers and fluttered to the floor. She took a few steps into the parlor, trying to run to the stairs. But her legs weren't working properly; she felt like she was trying to run through molasses. And the staircase seemed farther and farther away with each step she took.

Ardeth charged past her, running up the stairs. He brandished Rick's machine gun in his hand: his favorite weapon. When had he gotten that? Had he always had that? Evelyn wondered. She heard his boots thudding on the stairs, and then on the second floor of the house as she finally made it to the stairs. She wanted to run after him, to help him find her little girl. But somehow it was all she could do to pull herself up one step at a time, gripping the banister.

"Hannah," she said again, her voice a little stronger this time. She wanted to find her daughter. At the same time, she was terrified that she would find her daughter. 

***

Ardeth took the stairs two at a time. His heart pounded in his chest, much harder than it should from the mere physical exertion. All he could see in his mind's eye was Margaret. The look of fear in her eyes the night before when he had torn open her sleeve, and the calmer look in her eyes this morning that had chilled him even more. There were things he had never said to her, things he wanted to say. But now, if something had happened to her… Ardeth did not want to think about that. He just wanted to find her.

All of the doors upstairs were closed. He kicked open the first one. It was large, and looked like a master bedroom; it was probably where Rick and Evelyn slept. There was a cradle at one end of the room: Hannah's bed. A few toys were scattered here and there. Both the cradle and the bed were empty. There was no one in the room.

The second bedroom had two smaller beds in it. Both were neatly made, and the room was as empty as the first one had been. The discarded clothing on the floor and over one chair told Ardeth that this was the room that Jonathan shared with Alex.

There was one more bedroom, at the end of the hall. He kicked open the door, gun still at the ready. The bed in this smaller room was rumpled-- someone had been here. A child's picture book lay on the floor, along with a pair of women's shoes. The child, Hannah, had been here, and probably Margaret as well. But they were both gone now. He struggled for a moment to take a breath; for some reason, it suddenly required a conscious effort.

Ardeth fell back a step into the hallway, lowering the gun. Glancing to the stairs, he saw that Evelyn had made it to the landing, monitoring his progress. He shook his head.

"They're gone," he said, but his head turned to look back into the room. His gaze was somehow caught by those shoes on the floor. Margaret's shoes.

Evelyn let out a wail, sinking to the floor. "Hannah!" She called out piteously to her lost child. The sound echoed in Ardeth's ears, but in his head he heard a different name. Margaret.

"Mummy!" To Ardeth's astonishment, a tiny figure wriggled out from under the bed, got a little unsteadily to her feet, and toddled as fast as she could past him and down the hallway. Evelyn's grief turned into a cry of joy as she scrambled to her feet to meet her daughter.

"Mummy!" Hannah cried again. She clutched onto the front of Evelyn's blouse as her mother swung her up into her arms, covering her with kisses. She prattled something that sounded to Ardeth like "onnie egg idasee."

"Evelyn!" Before they could figure out what Hannah was saying, Rick's voice called to his wife from downstairs, in the kitchen. With one more glance at Ardeth, Evelyn turned and ran back down the stairs, Hannah still clutched in her arms.

Ardeth glanced into the room one more time, and nearly gasped out loud. He could now see Margaret lying under the bed. She had just begun to pull herself out when he'd turned back into the room. Her head and her arms were out, and she stared up at him with huge, frightened eyes.

"Ardeth." Her voice was so soft he could barely hear his name on her lips. She stared at the gun he still held in his hands, looking as if she might try and hide again. He dropped it to the floor and knelt at her side.

"Margaret." He grasped her arms and helped her pull herself the rest of the way out. She sat up straight with his help. She looked a little dazed; her dress was dusty, and locks of hair had slipped out of its knot and fell down her back. She winced a little in pain as she tried to straighten out her cramped back.

"Hannah," she finally said, her voice still weak. "Is she…she ran out, I couldn't stop her…"

"She is fine," Ardeth said, his hands running up and down her upper arms, as if he were trying to put warmth back into her body. "She is with Evelyn. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head absently, then looked up at him sharply, as if she had just realized he was there. "Claudia," she said suddenly. "I heard… there was a knock on the door. I went to answer it, but Claudia stopped me. She said she was closer. And then they…oh God, she…" Her eyes filled with frightened tears, but none fell.

Ardeth's blood ran cold. If Margaret had answered the door, it would have been her corpse in the front hallway. It would have been her body that they had stepped over when they had entered the house. He couldn't conceive of that. He couldn't think of Margaret cold and dead, her blood painting the floorboards. He pulled her into his arms and held her close, comforting her. Protecting her. She didn't respond to his embrace. Her body felt cold in the warm room; she was still in shock, seeing over and over again the horror she had witnessed.

"It's all right," he murmured into her ear, stroking her hair with one hand. "You are safe now."

"I had to keep Hannah safe," she said. She was almost babbling in her shock, but he could feel the tension in her body lessen slightly. Her hands came up to touch the front of his robes, realizing at last that she was being held. "We had to hide. I couldn't let them get the baby. Rick trusts me. He trusts me with her. I had to keep her safe. I had to keep the baby safe. We had to hide…"

He looked down at her. Her eyes were shut tight, and he knew she was seeing Claudia's death replay in her head. He needed her to open her eyes, to see him, and not the violence. He cupped her face in his hands, brushing his lips against her forehead.

"You're all right," he whispered. "You did the right thing. Hannah is safe. You are safe." Her eyes slowly opened, and her eyes searched his for reassurance. Before he quite realized what he was doing, he had lowered his mouth to hers and was gently kissing her, giving her all the reassurance he could. Her hands now lay flat on his chest, as if in protest, but she didn't push him away. The kiss went on longer than he had ever intended, but just as he was about to pull away from her and ask her forgiveness, her hands slid up to the back of his neck, her fingers lacing themselves into his hair. Her lips began to move under his, and he realized she was returning his kiss.

That was all he needed. He pulled her even closer, his arms going around her to clasp her to him. His kiss grew more insistent, the tip of his tongue tracing her lips before sweeping them apart. He slanted his mouth over hers, trying to draw her inside of himself, to absorb her, to protect her so she would never be put in danger again. His hands were restless, running over her hair, caressing the sides of her face, stroking up and down her back. She moved in response to his touch, kissing him as eagerly as he kissed her. He could feel the light touch of her fingertips on his throat, gently touching his face, stroking out to his shoulders. Her tentative touch inflamed him more than any skilled courtesan ever could.

He eased her back and lowered her to the floor, cradling the back of her head with one hand. He covered her body with his, relishing the feel of her under him, their hearts pounding together. His lips tore away from hers, moving across her cheek to her jawline as he heard her draw a ragged breath. His tongue traced the curve of her jaw before his lips began to explore the skin of her throat. His hands moved up her sides, his thumbs skimming the edges of her breasts, but not lingering there. They continued up to her shoulders and down her arms to clasp her hands in his, their fingers entwining together tightly. His mouth brushed at the sensitive spot where her neck joined her shoulder, his tongue tasting her skin. She arched her back towards him, a small moan escaping her lips as she tried to bring her body closer to his.

That small sound brought Ardeth back to himself. He looked down at the woman in his arms and realized what he was doing. He had given his emotions full rein, which at a time like this was inexcusable. In his relief at finding her alive and unharmed, he was about to take her, in the middle of the day, on the floor of a bedroom in a house with a corpse downstairs. She deserved better than that. Much better.

With a strength he didn't know he had, he pulled away from Margaret. She opened her eyes again as she sat up to face him, looking almost as dazed as when he had first found her. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing was irregular, and the gray of her eyes had deepened, darkened with passion until they were almost blue. It was all he could do not to throw himself on her again, impropriety be damned.

Instead, he stood up and offered her a hand. "Now is not the time for this," he said, his voice sounding harsh in his own ears. Margaret stood, pulling herself up by the bedpost, not taking his hand. 

"Of course." Her voice was very small, and she looked to the floor, still clinging to the bedpost. "I'm sorry. Of course you don't--" her voice broke, and she didn't finish her sentence. She tried to brush the dust from her skirt, still not looking at him. "Please forgive me."

He stared at her for a moment. Did she think he didn't want her? He stepped to her, closing the distance between them. He cupped her face in his hands again, forcing her head up until she looked into his eyes. Then he kissed her once more, gently but firmly, like a promise.

"I said this was not the time," he said softly. "Not that it was a mistake." 

She answered his quiet smile with one of her own. Then her hand flew to her mouth. "The artifacts!" she said. "They were here for the artifacts. Did they get them? Were they taken?"

Ardeth shook his head. "I don't know. Rick was checking the downstairs. We should go now. He needs to know that you are safe."

Margaret nodded, letting go of the bedpost and taking a step. Almost immediately, her legs gave out and she nearly fell. Ardeth caught her shoulders and helped her to stand again. She looked at him with a shaky smile. 

"I think my legs cramped up," she said. She looked back to the bed, at the space underneath. "I was trying to be small, so they wouldn't find us…"

Ardeth put an arm across her back, supporting her. He gently turned her head away from the bed. "It worked," he said quietly, brushing his lips across her temple. "No one found you until you were ready to be found." She nodded, leaning into him a little as he helped her from the room.

***

Rick squeezed his daughter even tighter, making her giggle in his arms. He smoothed her curls with one hand, and kissed the top of her head again. He looked down at Evelyn, whose face was streaked with tears, yet she beamed up at her husband and daughter.

"Where was she?" he asked. Evelyn shook her head.

"She came out of Margaret's room. Ardeth said the room was empty, but then she came running out. He must not have seen her."

"What about Meg?"

Evelyn bowed her head, the smile gone from her face. "I don't know." Her voice was small. "She may have hidden Hannah before--" She couldn't finish her thought. Rick swallowed hard.

Hannah squirmed in his arms. "Idasee!" she crowed. 

Rick looked down at her. "What? Evelyn, what's she saying?"

Evelyn shook her head. "I don't know. She said it before, too. Upstairs. I don't know what she's trying to say." She took her little girl from Rick's arms. "What is it, Hannah?"

But Hannah squirmed in her mother's arms too, until Evelyn set her down. She toddled towards the stairs. Rick and Evelyn turned, and saw Ardeth descending the stairs, an arm wrapped securely around Margaret, who clung to him as she carefully navigated the steps. Hannah laughed at the sight of her aunt and clapped her hands.

"Idasee!"

Margaret looked up and smiled a tired smile at Hannah. "That's right, Hannah," she said. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she let go of Ardeth to bend and pick up the little girl, holding her close once more. "Hide and Seek," she repeated, burying her face in her niece's hair. "You played so well, Hannah. So well." She was silent, and then her shoulders began to shake. It took a moment for them all to realize that Margaret was crying. Evelyn moved to them, taking the child from her. A second later, Rick had enfolded Margaret in his arms, holding her so tightly that she virtually disappeared. He held her for a little while, letting her cry, then he released her and held her at arm's length, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"You're all right." She nodded, swiping at the tears that dampened her cheeks. "You saved my little girl." She nodded again. He clutched her shoulders so tightly it hurt, but Margaret didn't say a word. "I can never repay you," he said simply.

"You don't need to," she replied. She had stopped crying, but her face was pale, and she was trembling.

"Here," said Rick. "You need to sit down." He started to steer her into the parlor. She allowed herself to be led, but she looked over her shoulder to where Ardeth stood at the base of the stairs. She reached a hand out to him, an expression of vague alarm on her face, as if she was afraid to be away from him. He stepped after them, taking her hand between both of his for a moment and pressing it reassuringly.

When Rick settled her into the armchair, Margaret attempted a smile. "You're not going to make me drink whiskey again, are you?" He squatted down in front of her, looping a lock of hair behind her ear. Ardeth moved to the hallway door, closing it, effectively shutting the grisly scene in the hallway away from the rest of the house.

"No." Rick shook his head, one side of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Are you kidding? Last time I did that, you got some wild idea, and dragged us out into the desert. I'm not doing that again."

Evelyn re-entered the parlor from the kitchen, bringing Alex and Jonathan with her.

"Margaret!" Jonathan hurried to her side, his face white. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said quietly. She risked a glance up at Ardeth, who had moved to stand beside her chair. "I'm fine." She looked across to Rick, who had crossed the room to embrace his wife and son. "The artifacts. Are they--?"

Rick shook his head. "Gone."

Margaret leaned forward and put her head in her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"Was it Daniels?" Rick asked.

Margaret nodded, not looking up. She kept her head in her hands and shuddered, remembering. Then she sat back up again, obviously trying to regain her composure. "It was Daniels. He had men with him. I…I don't know how many. I heard guns, and I…I just grabbed Hannah and I hid. I didn't know what else to do."

"There was nothing else you could have done," Ardeth said quietly. 

"Of course not," Evelyn murmured in agreement.

"So we've got to find this guy Daniels, right?" Rick asked. "Where do we start looking?"

"I learned last night where he is staying," Ardeth replied. "I will send men there now, and perhaps they can discover where he has taken the artifacts."

"But what does he want with them?" Margaret asked. "To do this, to kill…" she swallowed hard, trying to put strength back into her voice. "He wanted them so badly. Is there something he wants to do with them? Some kind of…I don't know. A ritual or something?"

"You want to hear my guess?" Rick asked. Without waiting for anyone's assent, he continued. "He wants to build a big bonfire out of them and dance on the ashes. Hamunaptra killed his brother, or whatever he was. I say let him have them, and let's go home and pretend we never came to Alexandria."

"No." Ardeth shook his head. "Hamunaptra did not kill his brother. The Creature did. The artifacts may be harmless, but we must still know what becomes of them. We will find them."

"They're yours," Evelyn said quietly. She looked up at Ardeth from where she now sat on the sofa, her daughter in her lap. "I am so sorry. I've been wrong all this time, and you have all been right. There is nothing more precious to me than what is in this room right now," she continued. She looked at her brother who was sitting next to her, and clasped his hand tightly. She looked at Margaret, sitting in the armchair looking a little stronger, and at Ardeth who stood beside her. She looked at her husband, who had an arm around their son. Then she looked back at the Medjai chieftain. "Nothing else matters to me. Please, in the name of the friendship we have shared all these years, please forgive me for not seeing that until now."

Ardeth looked at Evelyn for a moment, looking like the same stern warrior he always did. But there was something different about his eyes; they did not glare or condemn. He nodded finally. "Of course," he said. He bowed to the room in a gesture of parting, one hand dropping almost casually down to touch Margaret's shoulder. "I will go now," he said. "I need to meet with my men, and determine how to track down Daniels." He turned towards the front hallway, then checked his movement, turning to leave the house through the dining room and out the back door.

Rick nodded, grasping the Medjai's arm as Ardeth approached him. "So what do we do first?"

Ardeth stopped walking. He turned to look at Rick. "No, my friend. It is as you said; you must take care of your family. My men and I can deal with this."

Rick shook his head. "Nope." He looked at Evelyn for a moment, then back at Ardeth. "You help us, we help you. That's the way it's always been, and the way it will always be. Now, what do we do first?"

Ardeth sighed in frustration. He too had learned that sometimes, there was no arguing with Rick O'Connell. "Very well." He looked back into the parlor, at Evelyn and Hannah, and finally at Margaret. "You must stay here now, keep them safe. I will return soon with my men, and we will talk more."

Rick nodded and released Ardeth's arm. The Medjai glanced into the parlor once more and left the house. The grandfather clock began to chime. They all turned to look at it in dulled fascination. It was only two in the afternoon. It seemed as though a lifetime had passed since breakfast.


	9. The End of Hamunaptra and a Banished Nig...

Chapter Nine

Author's Note: My sincerest thanks to Rebecca for her very careful beta-ing of this chapter (you sure it's okay now?), and to ellbee for filling in the blanks, and for letting me filch a line from her. You two are the best!

Chapter Nine

Compared to the terrifying events of that morning, the house settled into a bizarre kind of normalcy in the afternoon. Not long after Ardeth's departure, Evelyn took Margaret and Hannah back upstairs. After such an exciting morning, Hannah was a little more in favor of a nap, and went right to sleep, still gloating over her Hide and Seek victory. Evelyn drew a bath for Margaret, and she soaked for quite some time, washing away the accumulated dust and fear. A couple of hours later, Margaret came back downstairs in a clean dress, her hair neatly pinned up again, looking for all intents and purposes the same as ever. But as she sat in the armchair in the parlor, her hands clasped and unclasped in her lap, and she never looked in the direction of the front door. She tried to knit, but her hands shook so badly that she dropped three stitches and finally gave up.

Evelyn brought Margaret into the kitchen, and put her to work helping to make tea. While the women were thus occupied, Ardeth returned with other Medjai, who took away Claudia's body and the blood-soaked rug. As the afternoon wore on, the parlor became a kind of council of war, with Rick and the Medjai talking in quiet tones. Ardeth's men came and went during the afternoon, updating their leader on their progress. Margaret sipped her tea and listened surreptitiously to their reports. Daniels had left the hotel where he had been staying, but they had tracked him down to another. He did not yet seem to be aware that he was being followed. There was no sign of the four large crates.

Just before sunset, Jonathan took Alex and the car, disappearing for nearly an hour. Evelyn had just begun to panic when the two arrived home, bearing trays laden with sandwiches from a local casbah. "It's been too long since you've cooked, my dear baby sister," Jonathan teased. "I thought that perhaps I would forage for us all."

"Well, I for one am very glad you did, Jonathan," Margaret said, her spirits returning slowly. "She probably would have made me cook. I grew up with nuns; all I can make is porridge," she added with a small laugh as Jonathan gave a mock shudder.

As night came on, a vague sense of tension fell upon them all. They could almost feel eyes peering in windows, and no one felt safe. Rick drew the curtains in the parlor, tying them together tightly. He walked over to Ardeth, who gazed out the window in the dining room.

"You know," he said quietly. "Maybe you should stay here tonight. I know we'd all feel a lot safer if you were here." As he spoke, his eyes flicked over to Margaret, who sat at the dining room table playing cards with Alex. 

Ardeth followed Rick's gaze, lingering on her for a moment, and then he looked back at Rick. He nodded. "Yes," he replied. "I do not think Daniels will attempt another assault on your family, but perhaps it is best to be prepared."

Rick nodded, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Besides, that way we'll know where you are, too. We won't have to worry about you getting into any trouble." Ardeth raised his eyebrows at Rick's attempt at humor, but said nothing.

A short time later, Margaret retired to bed. Alex followed soon after, much more reluctantly, still begging to stay up and help his dad "keep watch." After saying goodnight to his son, Rick came back downstairs, looking for his wife. She wasn't in the parlor or the kitchen. Then he noticed the door to the front hallway was open. Poking his head around the door, he saw Evelyn on her hands and knees, a bucket of water beside her, scrubbing the floor.

"Evelyn?" She didn't respond to her name, she just kept scrubbing. "Honey?" He squatted down, taking the scrub brush away from her. The water in the bucket was a rusty red. She looked up at him then, sitting back on her heels. Tears dotted her cheeks.

"This won't come clean, Rick." Her voice was very small. She rubbed at a spot on the floor, her fingers turning pink from the effort. "I can't get all the blood up." He shook his head, dropping the scrub brush into the bucket and pushing it away from them. He drew her into his arms.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It's all going to be okay."

"But it's my fault!" she cried, her voice stifled in his shoulder. "Ardeth was right, you know he was. I read from the book, I started all of this myself. I killed those Americans all those years ago. I killed Claudia today. Rick, I don't want to kill anyone. I never wanted to kill anyone!"

He held her tighter, letting her cry. "No, honey. No. You didn't kill anybody. The Americans weren't entirely innocent in this. You may have read from the book, but you didn't make them open that chest. They were responsible for their actions too, you know. Now, look at me," he said, taking her face in between his hands and kissing the tip of her nose. "We're going to help Ardeth get these artifacts back, and then we're going home. And that will be the end, do you hear me? The end of Hamunaptra." He ran his thumbs under her eyes, catching her tears. 

  
She nodded, catching her breath. She wiped her face on her sleeve, and looked down at the floor. "I must look like Lady Macbeth," she said with a watery smile.

Rick shrugged. "Only a little less crazy." He stood up, offering a hand to his wife and helping her to her feet. "Now, come on," he said. "The kids are asleep, Margaret's asleep. Ardeth's staying on the sofa and Jonathan's going to bed soon. You need to get some rest too."

Evelyn nodded, winding her arms around her husband and resting her head against his chest. "You're right. I can't help but think that we will all sleep well tonight."

***

Margaret couldn't sleep.

The day's events had exhausted her, and she had felt her energy fading not too long after dinner. She had changed into her nightgown and settled gratefully into bed, noticing for the first time how much more comfortable it was to be on top of the bed, rather than underneath it. She had blinked drowsily up at the ceiling fan, looking forward to sleep. 

Four hours later, she was still blinking up at the ceiling fan, scowling. Outside her bedroom door, she had listened to the rest of the house settle down to bed, the footsteps and other movement lessening gradually until the whole house was silent. She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes again, willing sleep to come. But again, her head filled up with images, so many and so vivid that her eyes snapped open again to watch the ceiling fan spin around and around.

Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she heard guns going off, and heard Claudia's body fall to the floor. Other times, she saw the blood seeping through the front hallway into the parlor. Or she saw Daniels himself, clenching her arm so tightly that he bruised her, his blue eyes spitting hatred. Or she was lying under the bed, every muscle in her body tensed, choking on dust, praying that Hannah wouldn't squirm or make any noise.

And every so often, when she closed her eyes, she was in the arms of a black-clad warrior, who had once again come to her rescue. She could feel his mouth on hers, feel his hands roaming over her as he lowered her to the floor. She felt the weight of his body press her into the floor, his lips on her throat, his hands holding hers tightly.

And for the life of her, Margaret couldn't tell which of these images scared her the most.

She shoved the quilt aside and sat up in bed. She turned on the light and shook her head hard, trying to dispel the images, although she'd tried that already and knew it didn't work. She got up and crossed to her dressing table. She picked up the water jug and a glass. Perhaps a drink of water would help her calm down, help her sleep.

The jug was empty. Four drops of water plunked into the bottom of her glass. She gritted her teeth in annoyance, setting the jug and glass firmly back onto the table. Why was the jug empty? It was always filled before she went to bed…

A wave of sadness washed over her, followed closely by a wave of guilt. Claudia filled those jugs. But, of course, she had not done so today. She never would again. Margaret stared hard at the jug, willing the tears not to start again. She was so sick of crying. If she cried now, she would end up with sore eyes and a headache, and then she would never get to sleep.

She picked up her dressing gown from the foot of the bed, putting it on and tying the sash around her waist. She picked up the glass again and slipped quietly out of the bedroom, leaving the door cracked so the light barely streamed into the hall. The last thing she wanted to do was lose her way in the darkness. The day had been bad enough; she really didn't want to end it by falling over the banister to the floor below.

She was halfway down the stairs before she realized that she was holding her breath. The house was quiet, and she was suddenly very aware of the sound of her feet on the stairs. She exhaled, her breath sounding loud in her own ears. She peered into the darkness of the parlor as she continued down the staircase. She knew that Ardeth slept there; his presence in the house was almost tangible to her. The parlor was dark; the curtains were drawn so tightly that no moonlight shone into the room. Margaret couldn't see the sofa, couldn't see if he was asleep. But the room was quiet; he must be.

She crept through the parlor and into the dining room. She exhaled when she reached the kitchen; she'd been holding her breath again. The kitchen was a little less dark than the parlor. Here the moonlight peeked through the window, casting a faintly silver glow on everything it touched. A large pitcher sat on the counter. She set her glass down and filled it from the pitcher. She tilted her head back and drank. The water wasn't cold, but it was cool; it felt good going down her throat. She put the glass down and pressed her hand to her cheek. Why did she feel so warm? Perhaps she was just tired.

Two things happened then, nearly startling Margaret right out of her skin. She heard her name, murmured in the darkness. At the same time, the darkness reached out and touched her arm. She whirled and shrank back, gripping the counter behind her with both hands. 

"What--" she breathed. It was Ardeth. She knew his voice, knew his touch. And as her eyes adjusted to the light given off by the moon, she could just see him standing before her. He had shed his outer robes, and stood there barefoot, wearing a loose shirt and pants. She wondered if he wore black to better blend into the night, for he certainly did.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him, terror adding hostility to her tone. She knew that she had no reason to fear him, not anymore. But to have him sneak up behind her like that, to touch her arm…it was too much like...no. She didn't want to think about that; to think about her nightmares when she was awake would only give them validation, and she refused to do that.

"I heard a noise," he replied simply, but she saw a quick flash of white in the darkness. Was he smiling? She wished she could see him better; he smiled so rarely. "I am here to protect your family, after all. I saw someone go into the kitchen, and so--" He spread his hands, as if he had explained everything, "I am making sure no assassins have crept into the house."

"Oh, yes," Margaret replied, keeping her voice low. "Because a great many assassins break into homes and skulk around wearing white cotton nightgowns. It's the best way not to be seen, after all." 

Ardeth smiled at her joke, but his face remained serious. "I frightened you. I am sorry."

She shook her head, slowly releasing her grip on the counter. "No, it's not your fault. It's mine. It's just-- you sneaking up behind me, it's…" Her voice trailed off. She shook her head again. "It's nothing." She stepped to the side, to walk around him and out of the room.

But he didn't allow that. He neatly sidestepped so that he was in front of her again, his hands on her upper arms. His hands were warm; she could feel the heat of them through her dressing gown. And they were strong; Margaret had the sudden notion that she could pick up her feet and he would hold her upright with no effort at all.

One of these hands now touched her under the chin; he tilted her head up to face him. Margaret found herself captivated by those eyes again. They stared into hers steadily, as if they would learn everything there was to know about her. "You will tell me," he said quietly. "Are you thinking about what happened today?"

She gave him a small smile at that question. "You're going to have to be more specific than that," she replied. "A lot of things happened today." His lips curled up in an answering smile, but he said nothing. "No," she continued, "It's got nothing to do with today. I've had--" She wanted to look down, to look away, but she knew that he wouldn't allow it. She took a breath and finished her sentence. "Ever since Hamunaptra, I've had these dreams."

"Dreams?" His brow furrowed, and his face grew more serious. She knew what he was thinking; her dreams had proven to be quite dangerous in the past.

"No," she hastened to assure him. "Nothing like that. No undead priests whispering in my ear. My eyes haven't gone brown again, I promise." She forced a brave smile onto her face. "No, these are just your garden-variety nightmares."

The hand under her chin lifted to trail the backs of his fingers down her cheek, gently stroking the skin there. "You will tell me," he said again.

She didn't want to. She really didn't want to tell him about the nightmares. She didn't even like to think about them. Besides, his skin touching hers was driving all rational thought from her head. Instead, she was remembering the way he had felt this afternoon, the way he had tasted when his mouth took hers. But his eyes looked into hers still, and she found herself drawing on his strength, just as she had in the desert two years ago. "They always start out differently," she heard herself saying, "so that I never know when the nightmare happens until it's too late. It starts out very mundane. Very ordinary. I'm taking a walk in the garden, or reading a book. Or drinking a glass of water," she added, gesturing behind her to the counter. "I feel content, even peaceful. But then, there's a hand on my arm. Someone spins me around--" Her voice began to tremble just a little bit, as she began to remember the fear that woke her up at night. "And it's you." Her voice dropped, as if by speaking more softly she could make it less frightening. "You're standing there, and you've got the knife--" Her voice shook harder now; she could feel Ardeth's grip on her arm tightening. "You've got the knife, and this time, you don't stop." Her voice broke on the last word.

Ardeth's eyes hardened. The hand that touched her face had dropped down to her neck. She felt the pad of his thumb stroking the side of her throat, tracing the scar he had given her, as if he was trying to wipe it away. "I would give all that I have," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "to take this mark, and to take that memory away from you."

Her eyes swam with tears, so that she could barely see him. She blinked them back as best she could, but one or two spilled over anyway. "I know," she replied.

He released her then, so suddenly that she almost fell. He stepped back from her. His face had gone stony again, like the night before-- had it only been the night before? -- when he had ripped her blouse and accused her of lying. "So this is how you think of me," he said, his voice low and flat. "You remember me with fear." He shook his head, glancing briefly to the floor. "Of course." Not looking at her again, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Margaret stared after him, aghast. For a second, she was simply frozen. In the next instant, she launched herself after him, a blur of white running through the dining room and into the parlor. But the parlor was dark; she couldn't see him. And she couldn't call to him without waking the entire house. For the space of a heartbeat, she despaired.

But, as her eyes adjusted, she saw him. She saw darkness moving in darkness, and she reached out, touching an arm. Her hand tightened and she pulled, halting his progress and turning him around to face her. Stepping closer to him, she laid her hands on his upper arms, so that they stood exactly as they had in the kitchen, their positions reversed.

"Ardeth, please," she whispered, her voice pleading. "That's not how I remember you." She tried to look up into his face, to see his eyes again, but it was too dark. Only the feel of his arms under her hands, and his vague outline against the darkness told her that he was there at all.

"You would be right to think that way," came his whispered reply. He did not pull away from her, but his arms were tense, and his voice was impassive.

"Perhaps." She tried to smile, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "I've never had a knife held to my throat before, I don't know how I'm supposed to react afterwards. The dreams frighten me," she admitted. His arms tensed further, as if he would pull away, but she tightened her grip. She knew she couldn't hold him there; he was infinitely stronger than she was, he could break her grasp easily. But she had to try. She had to at least let him know that she didn't want him to move away from her.

"The dreams frighten me," she repeated, "but they're only dreams. I don't even think about them when I'm awake. And when I think of you, those dreams don't even come into my head."

He did not speak at first, but he moved slightly, his body relaxing just a little. Margaret loosened her grip a little, conscious for the first time of the feel of his muscles under her hands. "How do you think of me, then?" he asked. At first, his voice seemed detached, but as he asked the question, she felt him tense up again. "What other memories can you have?"

Margaret smiled a genuine smile. Here was something she enjoyed thinking about. Her hands relaxed further; now they simply rested on his arms, as if touching him were the most natural thing in the world. "I remember the night we said goodbye," she replied. "In Cairo."

She still couldn't see Ardeth in the dark, but she imagined that she could feel him nod his head slowly. "Yes," he said, the tension beginning to drain from him. "What do you remember of that night?"

Margaret felt her cheeks begin to burn. Thinking about it was one thing, but to talk about it? Out loud? But there was something in his voice. He sounded almost desperate, as if he longed to know what she thought of him. It was compelling, and before she knew it, she found herself responding.

"You had given me the Key, " she began, closing her eyes to further savor the memory. "You told me that you trusted me to keep it safe. You took my hand and you bowed." She felt a foolish smile creep to her face, combining with her blush, and she began to feel thankful that it was dark and he could not see her. "You bowed very politely. Courtly, almost, as I recall," she continued, her smile widening as she teased him. "And then--" her voice faltered a little as she reached her favorite part of the memory, "-- you kissed my hand and bade me farewell. And that is how I remember you." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, even though the gesture was useless. Her eyes had fully adjusted to the dark, but there was simply not enough light to make him out. He did not move or respond to her at first, and she felt her insides squirm. Did he think her foolish?

He moved then, stepping back a little, her hands dropping from his arms. She felt him reach forward in the dark, catching her right arm just above the elbow. He trailed his fingers down until he clasped her hand in his. "So," he murmured, bringing it up between them, his thumb stroking the top of her hand. "I took your hand, and I bowed to you--" There was a smile in his voice as he did so in the dark. Margaret couldn't see it, but she could feel the movement, and somehow it made her breath catch in her chest while making her want to laugh with pure joy at the same time.

He straightened up again, bringing her hand up higher. "And then--" his voice was so soft that she could barely hear him. "I kissed your hand." His lips were so close to her hand that she could feel the words move against her skin. "Like this?" And he brought his lips down, caressing the back of her hand. 

"Yes," she tried to say, but no sound came out. She struggled to take a breath, but it seemed hard to draw in oxygen around the pounding of her heart. "Yes," she said again, able to get the word out this time. "Something like that."

Ardeth raised his head. "Indeed?" There was still a hint of amusement in his tone, and even though she couldn't see his face, she just knew that he was raising an eyebrow at her. "Are you certain?" he asked. "Could it not have been more like this?" The teasing note was suddenly gone from his voice, replaced by something else. Something more intense that Margaret could not name. He carefully turned her hand over, cradling it palm up in both of his hands. His head descended again, planting a single kiss in the center of her hand, followed by another.

Margaret tried to remember how to speak, and when she felt the tip of his tongue trace a path across her palm, she tried to remember how to stand up. "I don't think so," she replied, her voice breathless. She no longer needed to try to whisper; she didn't have the strength to do anything else. "I believe--" she fought to remember what she wanted to say, but the feel of his lips and his tongue proved to make putting a sentence together very difficult. "I believe I would have remembered that a little more clearly."

He chuckled then, a low rumbling sound that made Margaret sway on her feet. "Perhaps you are right," he murmured, his lips brushing against her hand. "I would have also remembered that. Very clearly. But I do not." He drew her closer, their bodies almost touching. She felt his hands frame her face, his fingertips stroking her skin. "I remember a very brave woman standing before me. And I remember thinking that I was very foolish. That I had not noticed how beautiful you were until the moment you were gone from my life."

"But I came back," she whispered. She felt him nod in the darkness, his head close to hers.

"You came back," he repeated, his voice little more than a whisper. "And I have no intention of making that mistake again."

"What mistake?"

"Allowing you to go." These last words she felt against her lips as his mouth came down and took hers. His hands fell from her face to grasp her around the waist, pulling her body against his as he deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded her mouth as it had earlier that day, exploring her, tasting her. But this time, she responded as she had not before, trying to mimic his action, swirling her tongue around his, hoping she was doing this right. Evidently she was, for he pressed her even closer with a groan. She had brought her hands up to rest on his shoulders, and now they moved, her fingers caressing the smooth skin of his throat and the roughness of the beard that lined his jaw. Eventually, they settled at the back of his neck, pulling his head even closer to hers, deepening the kiss even more.

His hands moved up her sides to touch her face again, and then moved to the back of her head. They traced down her back, following her braid that hung nearly to the small of her back. She felt a small pull on her hair, and realized that he had yanked the ribbon free that tied her braid closed. His hands moved back up, loosening the braid with his fingers until her hair hung in loose waves down her back. All the while, he kissed her, never releasing her lips.

But now he did. Fingers entwined firmly in her hair, he pulled her head back, baring her throat for him much as he had at Hamunaptra. She drew a long breath, fighting against the dizziness that threatened to consume her, only to have that breath rush out of her body in a single silent gasp when she felt his tongue trail down the column of her throat. She clutched at the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his dark hair as his lips nipped at her neck. His mouth found her scar and he licked at it, trying to erase it with his tongue as he had done with his thumb earlier. He kissed his way back down her throat, and his tongue traced her collarbone. 

She felt his hands at her waist again, this time untying the sash of her dressing gown, his hands slipping inside. His touch burned her through the thin cotton of her nightgown. Before she realized what was happening, her dressing gown fell from her shoulders to hang on her arms. He kissed her shoulder through the nightgown, and she felt his lips burn her, much as his hands did. Her head fell back in surrender, and her arms dropped to her sides, the dressing gown slipping to the floor. 

His mouth descended upon hers again with a new urgency. One hand remained at the small of her back, anchoring her to him. The other traveled slowly up her body, caressing her skin through the cotton. Her hands came up to his waist, clinging to him. His fingers brushed across her breast, and she gasped against his mouth. His hand lingered there, his touch growing bolder, and Margaret felt the dizziness returning, stronger and more intense than ever. Her hands pulled at his shirt, and she fought to get beneath it, suddenly needing to touch his skin with hers. She wanted to feel him against her.

"Margaret." Ardeth tore his mouth away and growled her name, leaning his forehead against hers. This close, she could just barely see him, and she watched him fight to control his breathing. His hands ran up and down her bare arms urgently, and she shivered at the touch. "Will you--" Now she could see his eyes. Something burned in them that she had never seen before. Something that made her feel unbearably warm and incredibly alive at the same time. 

Ardeth swallowed and cupped her face in his hands. Was he trembling? Perhaps she was imagining it, but it seemed that his voice shook a little too. "Will you allow me in your bed?"

Now Margaret was shaking too. The dizziness swirled all around her, threatening to drive away everything. She knew what he was asking, but at the same time she had no idea what it meant. The room seemed to spin, and emotions of every kind surged through her. Excitement, fear, anticipation, wonder… but through it all, she felt a core of clarity. She belonged in his arms, of that she was suddenly very, very certain. And he belonged in hers.

She smiled, although a bit of her trembled in fear. She brought her hands up to touch his face. She ran her fingertips across the string of hieroglyphics on his forehead, then trailed them down to trace the curve of the Arabic tattoos on his cheeks. His eyes slid closed at her touch. Finally, she cupped his face in her hands, holding onto him just like he held onto her.

"Yes," she said quietly, stretching up to brush his lips again with hers. 

***

Eventually, Margaret slept soundly. There were no nightmares.


	10. Voicing the Heart and A Happy Accident

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

As Margaret came awake slowly, she was immediately aware of two things. First of all, she couldn't see anything. Her hair had come down in the night, and it now fell across her face, obscuring her vision. Secondly, she wasn't wearing her nightgown. In fact, she wasn't wearing anything at all. Confused, she reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes, but then someone did it for her. A strong hand pushed back her hair, smoothing it away from her face and over her shoulder. She froze for a second in shock-- who was in her bedroom? And where was her nightgown?

She opened her eyes, blinking drowsily in the gray light of early morning, and memory flooded back into her sleep-addled brain. She reached an arm out to Ardeth, who sat on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair. He was dressed in the loose shirt and pants he had been wearing last night, when she had met up with him downstairs. When, later, he had come to her room. He took the hand she offered him, raising it to his lips and kissing her fingertips one at a time. She smiled, feeling her skin heat up from his touch.

"You weren't a dream," she murmured.

"No," he replied with a slow smile. "And neither were you."

Her smile widened, remembering now just what had happened last night. And none of it had been a dream. Amazing. Then a small frown of confusion crossed her face. "But you're leaving?"

He nodded. "I must." Still holding her hand, he leaned forward to run his other hand down her cheek. "I will do a very poor job of keeping watch over the house if I stay here."

Margaret stretched lazily. "Well," she said, "you're just watching this particular room very carefully. Surely Rick can take care of the rest of the house." She rolled onto her back, not letting go of his hand, taking him with her. Ardeth allowed himself to be pulled back into the bed. He gathered her into his arms and held her close, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, indulging in another slow smile.

"I believe I preferred it when you were sleeping," he said, one hand slipping under the blankets to trace slow patterns on her skin. "You are proving to be a very difficult woman to leave." She grinned, holding him even tighter. 

"Good," she said, raising her head from his shoulder to capture his lips with hers, deepening the kiss almost immediately. He broke off their kiss after a few moments.

"You are learning very quickly," he said, raising an eyebrow. He rolled them so she was on her back again, and he leaned over her.

She slid her hands under his shirt, her fingers tracing up his spine. She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I have a very good teacher."

He bent to kiss her again, sliding his fingers through her hair, while her arms wound around his back, pulling him closer. "Perhaps you are right," he murmured, kissing a path to her ear and then down her jaw to her neck. "This room does look rather dangerous. It may take the both of us to keep an eye on it. Perhaps even for the rest of the morning." His mouth went lower, to the base of her throat, past her collarbone. He lifted a hand to tug on the sheet that covered the rest of her body.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly, startling them both. "Oh, no!" she breathed. "Evelyn!"

"What?"

"Evelyn," she repeated. "I told Evelyn that I would get up early and help her with breakfast. I have to go!" With that, she threw the blankets aside, scrambling out of the bed.

Ardeth leaned back on his elbows, reclining against the pillows, and watched her throw open the wardrobe and pull out clothing. "Now it is you who leaves me," he said with a smile, watching her dress. She turned to him then, narrowing her eyes, trying not to smile back.

"Don't you have a house to watch over?" His smile widened to a grin, and he raised himself out of the bed.

"So I do," he replied. He crossed the room to stand behind Margaret, who was struggling with the buttons on her dress. He reached around her and put his hands on hers, stilling them. He pulled her back just a little, and she leaned into his arms. He pushed her hair aside to nuzzle the back of her neck.

"Don't do that," she said, but her contented smile belied her words. "I will never want to leave this room." She sighed happily. "This night has been… I've never known anything like this before."

He turned her in his arms so he could look into her eyes. "This is only the beginning of our life, my love," he said, leaning down to brush his mouth against hers. He kissed her again, a little more firmly, before pulling away with a chagrined smile. Without another word, he turned and slipped out of the room.

Margaret stared at the door, a little stunned. What had he just called her? "My love"? All through the night he had said many things, beautiful words that had brought tears to her eyes. But he had not mentioned love. Not once. Until just now. But now that he had, she felt her heart fill, pressing against her ribcage so that tears threatened to fall. He loved her.

Margaret sank to the chair in front of her dressing table. As she combed out her hair, she looked in the mirror, wondering if she looked as different as she felt. But no; her eyes were the same pale gray, her hair the same nondescript brown. That small smile that played around her lips was new, though. She indulged it, combing through her hair and braiding it back. She'd worry about putting it up properly after breakfast.

She went to the water jug to splash a little water into the basin to wash her face. Putting her hand on the cool ceramic, she remembered that it was empty. It had been the empty water jug that had started all of this. Her cheeks flushed again as another scrap of memory floated through her mind. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to cool herself. Was it going to be like this all day? Margaret didn't know if she could stand it.

A tap on the door made her jump. She whirled and looked at the door. Had he returned already? 

"Come in," she said. The door opened partway, and Evelyn stuck her head into the room.

"So you're awake," she said with a smile.

"Yes! Oh, Evy, I'm so sorry." Margaret rushed to apologize. "I meant to be downstairs already to help you. I'm just on my way now."

"You know, it's the strangest thing," Evelyn continued, almost as if Margaret hadn't spoken at all. She leaned against the bedroom door, one hand on the doorknob, but she still didn't enter the bedroom or even open the door all the way. "I didn't sleep all that well. I think I woke up a little before dawn. So I went downstairs to make myself some tea, and do you know what I saw?" Margaret shook her head. "Ardeth wasn't asleep on the sofa. I thought perhaps he had gone, but then I looked and his boots were still there. I thought it very odd that he would leave the house without his boots. But then I looked closer, and do you know what else I saw?" Margaret shook her head again, but she had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going. Her heart had already stopped, and she could feel her cheeks heating up yet again.

Now Evelyn flung the door wide. Margaret just stared at her dressing gown and hair ribbon, which Evelyn had been holding in her other hand, hidden by the door. She stepped into the room, handing the articles to a stunned Margaret.

"I found these on the floor in the parlor," she said, closing the door behind her, the smile on her face quickly becoming a smirk. "And I'm pretty sure they don't belong to Ardeth. He's never been one for hair ribbons." She looked rather pointedly across the room, to where Margaret's nightgown lay, unbuttoned, in a heap on the floor. She then looked back at Margaret, who had gone practically scarlet. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" Evelyn asked innocently.

Margaret twisted the ribbon around her fingers nervously, pulling so tightly the tips of her fingers turned bright red. She stammered for a second, not meeting Evelyn's eyes. Then a small sound made her look up. She was amazed to see that Evelyn was doing all she could not to laugh. As soon as their eyes met, the two women burst into laughter-- Evelyn's delighted, while Margaret's was a little more nervous.

  
"You've never said a word, all this time!" Evelyn exclaimed. "How long has this been going on? Has he been stealing into your room every night?"

"No!" Margaret burst out. "Oh, Evy, no! Last night was the first time that he…that we…" She stopped talking, realizing that she had no idea how to finish that sentence. Her cheeks burned so hotly she wondered if a person could actually catch on fire from it.

Evelyn laughed again, a little more gently this time as she noticed Margaret's discomfort. "I think it's wonderful," she said, taking the dressing gown back from Margaret before she worried it into shreds. She laid it across the foot of the bed, trying not to smirk again at its unmade state. 

"Do you?" Margaret asked. "It's all happened so fast that I don't know what to think. Evelyn--" She took Evelyn's hands in hers, pulling her so that they both sat on the foot of the bed. "I think he loves me. I think he really does."

"Of course he does!" Evelyn replied, her smile growing wider by the moment. "I saw the way he looked at you at the party, the night before the auction. He was in love with you then; I would have bet my life on it."

"Really?" Margaret tried to focus her reeling mind, tried to remember the night of the reception. She remembered Ardeth standing very close to her, his touch on her arm making her feel warm, as if she was standing in the sun. She remembered him throwing off his black cloak when she had "fainted;" the cloak had still been warm from his body when he'd wrapped it around her. She remembered snuggling into that warmth, welcoming it even though she was plenty warm already. And to think that he'd loved her, even then…

Evelyn had asked her a question. Margaret blinked at her sister-in-law. "I'm sorry, Evy. What?"

But Evelyn was too pleased to be annoyed at having to repeat herself. "I asked if you love him in return, but I can see that I really don't have to ask that question."

"No," Margaret replied with a smile. Then she frowned. "I mean, yes. Oh--" Evelyn started to laugh again, and Margaret looked at her in mock exasperation. "I mean no, you don't have to ask, and yes--" her voice softened, as she put her heart into words for the first time. "I do love him."

"Oh--" Evelyn squeezed Margaret's hands tightly. Margaret could see that the other woman's eyes were suddenly brighter: were those tears? They were, because a moment later Evelyn released Margaret's hands to swipe at her eyes. She looked at the tears on her fingers with a small laugh.

"Listen," Evelyn finally said. "Breakfast isn't going to make itself, no matter how long we stay here. And you know what will happen if we don't get down there."

Margaret nodded seriously. "Jonathan and Alex will try to cook." She jumped to her feet. "We had better hurry."

***

Downstairs, the council of war had already reconvened in the parlor. Alex listened, fascinated, as Rick and Ardeth discussed various plans and strategies for potential situations. All they could do so far was speculate, as none of the Medjai had yet arrived to give Ardeth any news. While the women worked on breakfast, Hannah grew increasingly more demanding of attention. Jonathan proved to be of no help, protesting as he always did that all women, "even the small ones," eluded him. So Margaret ended up taking care of Hannah, feeding her and getting her dressed while Evelyn finished making breakfast.

When Margaret descended the stairs a little while later with a clean and dressed little girl, the parlor was full of black-robed warriors. She paused for a moment, about halfway down the stairs, taking in the scene. Rick was certainly easy to spot: a blotch of white and khaki and tousled brown hair in a sea of black. But her eyes swept over the men more than once before she picked out the dark sheen of Ardeth's hair. It didn't help that all of the Medjai had the same tattoos on the backs of their hands. She looked at Ardeth's hands, gesturing as he spoke, and thought about what those hands had done to her last night. Her skin began to warm, and she knew she was blushing again. She shook her head at herself, a little annoyed. This was hardly the time for such thoughts! 

"Come on, then," she said to Hannah, who had insisted that she was big enough to walk down the stairs by herself. The little girl clung to Margaret's hand tightly, gripping the banister with her other hand as she carefully negotiated the steps one at a time. After what felt like a few hours, they made it to the bottom of the staircase.

By the time she got to the dining room with her niece, Rick was already in there, his omnipresent weapons satchel open on the table. He was loading up on revolvers. Evelyn sat in one of the chairs, her fingers massaging her temples as she watched her husband. Hannah ran to her mother, and Evelyn lifted her into her lap, not taking her eyes off Rick. 

"They've found them, haven't they?" Margaret asked. Evelyn nodded, but it was Rick who actually answered her question.

"At the train station," he said. "There's a storage depot on the other side of the tracks. Four large crates marked for the British Museum, were placed there this morning. That's got to be them." He stuck another revolver into a shoulder holster, and started assembling his shotgun.

"Do you need my help?" Jonathan asked unenthusiastically. Rick shook his head.

"No, I want you to stay here with the family. Keep an eye on things, you got me?" He turned and fixed a stare on his brother-in-law, so intense that Jonathan swallowed hard. However, he looked back without faltering.

"They're my family too, Rick."

Rick nodded again, gripping Jonathan's shoulder briefly in a gesture of apology. He then turned back to his bag, drawing out ropes of bullets. Without looking up, he stretched out his arm to hand them to Margaret. "You still got my Thompson?" he asked.

Margaret was flabbergasted. His what? Why was he giving her bullets? Before she could squeak out any kind of answer, a voice behind her said, "Yes." An arm reached around her to take the bullets from Rick. Margaret turned to see Ardeth standing in the doorway of the dining room, almost directly behind her.

"Okay," she heard Rick say behind her. She looked back over her shoulder to see him grab a dining chair and pull it very close to Evelyn's. He sat down, facing his wife. The two talked so quietly it was impossible to hear what was said.

A touch on her shoulder made her turn around again, and she found herself looking up into Ardeth's eyes again. Despite the danger they faced and the fear in her heart, she smiled, and she saw the hint of an answering smile in his eyes.

He gripped her shoulders, his thumbs just barely stroking the sides of her throat. "Stay safe," he said to her quietly. "Go nowhere alone."

"Of course," she answered just as quietly. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to embrace him and not let go. But she just couldn't, not with the family looking on. Not to mention Ardeth's men, a couple of whom lingered in the parlor, waiting for their leader. She settled for placing her hands on top of his, lacing their fingers together. "Just come back to me."

He clasped her hands tightly, then raised one of them to his mouth, kissing it softly. "I promise you that I will." She could see that promise reflected in his eyes, and she felt reassured. 

Now Rick was standing beside her, looking from Ardeth to Margaret, and then to their linked hands. "Are we ready here?" he asked softly. Still looking at Margaret, Ardeth nodded once. "Then let's go." Rick squeezed his sister's shoulder, kissed her on the cheek, and strode out into the parlor. As Ardeth stepped back from Margaret, she caught sight over his shoulder of the two Medjai in the parlor. They were looking straight at her as she stood there with Ardeth. Their faces were as impassive as their leader's, but something in their expressions made Margaret feel as if she should apologize for something.

With one more glance at Margaret, Ardeth followed Rick. No one in the dining room moved as they listened to the sets of booted feet leave the house and the front door close behind them.

***

The train station wasn't far from the house; there was no point in taking the car. It also wasn't very big. Alexandria was primarily a seaport to and from the rest of the world, and most if its visitors came and went by boat. Rick squinted as he surveyed the small station. Most of the routes out of Alexandria by rail went deeper into Egypt. Daniels must not be finished in Egypt, he thought, unless he's going back to America by way of Africa. He shook his head.

At the far side of the station, on the other side of the tracks, was a row of storage buildings situated behind a high platform. The platform was apparently there to facilitate the loading of the boxcars; the loading crane beside it made that fairly clear. But with no boxcar in front of it, the platform looked like a high-dive with no swimming pool underneath.

"So which building are the crates in?" Rick asked. 

Ardeth shook his head, his eyes on the buildings. "I am not sure," he replied.

"Well--" Rick looked around in frustration. "Can't you ask? Who found them?"

Ardeth shook his head again, still not looking at Rick. "The men who gave me that information went back to Daniels' hotel. I sent them to track his movements, leaving the artifacts to us. We will wait until Daniels and his men move to load the artifacts onto a train. Then we will act."

Rick swore under his breath. "That doesn't make a damn bit of sense. We need those men here, not out there watching Daniels check out of his hotel. Are they gonna carry his bags for him too? Why the hell would you--" Ardeth finally turned his head to look at Rick, and Rick stopped talking immediately. He'd always considered Ardeth to be a very intense man, but now he looked even more so than usual. His eyes burned with a fierceness that stopped Rick cold.

"My friend," Ardeth began, his voice low and steady, yet just as fierce as the look in his eyes. "Yesterday, that man carried a gun into your house. That gun was fired under the same roof as Margaret and your daughter, and blood was spilled. I will not take the chance that he will do that again."

Rick held his gaze for a few moments and then nodded slowly. "All right," he finally said. He turned his head, looking back across the tracks to the storage buildings. "So it's just us, then?"

"For now. Soon, Daniels will return to oversee the loading of the crates, and my men will return with him."

"But for now, we wait."

Ardeth nodded. "We wait."

***

All they could do was wait. The day dragged, almost as slowly as the day before. Alex settled himself happily on the sofa with a book. He seemed to be the only one not particularly affected by the tension of the day. Evelyn spent all of her time with Hannah, not wanting to let the little girl out of her sight. Jonathan sat at the dining room table, playing a complicated game of solitaire. Margaret nearly wore a bare path in the parlor carpet, pacing back and forth, occasionally looking out the window.

"Meg, darling," Jonathan eventually called. "Do sit down or something. Please? You're starting to make me dizzy."

"Sorry," Margaret replied with a wan smile. She wandered into the dining room, settling into a chair across from him, watching his game. He glanced up at her a couple of times, then swept the cards together, shuffled them, and dealt out a hand of gin for himself and Margaret. She took the cards with a smile.

After a few hands, Jonathan tossed his cards to the table and got up. Margaret's nervous energy had apparently transferred itself to him. Snapping his fingers idly, he looked out the dining room window.

"Anything out there?" Evelyn asked, entering the dining room. Jonathan shook his head, still looking out the window.

"No…no," he replied. "Just a lot of nothing. As usual."

"Is Hannah asleep?" Margaret asked. 

Evelyn nodded "Finally."

Jonathan turned back to the room. "Shall I go out and bring back some dinner for us tonight?" he asked suddenly. Evelyn looked at him, her eyes vague.

"I don't know," she replied. "I don't know what tonight's going to bring." She looked down at her hands, twisting the wedding ring on her finger.

Jonathan sighed heavily. "I know," he said quietly. He put an arm around his sister and drew her close. Evelyn closed her eyes and embraced her brother. Margaret gathered the cards into her hands, shuffling them over and over, staring blankly at the centerpiece.

"Nonetheless," Jonathan finally said with a deep breath. "The children need to eat tonight, and so do the both of you. Rick charged me to take care of you, after all," he said, chucking Evelyn under the chin with one finger. He drew himself up with mock authority, making both women smile. "And that means providing for the family. So it looks like I'm foraging for us all again."

"Can I go with you, Uncle Jon?" Alex asked, having heard everything from the parlor.

"No!" Evelyn answered immediately. She went to the parlor and joined her son on the sofa. "No," she said again, a little less sharply. "I need you to stay here." Alex looked like he might argue, but his face went thoughtful for a moment and he nodded. He let his mother put her arms around him and hold him tightly, although he was really too old for such things.

"Then what about you, baby sister?" Jonathan asked. "Do you feel up to going with me?"

"No, Jonathan," Evelyn replied. "I don't want to leave the children. I just--"

"Ah," Jonathan held up a finger, interrupting her. "You forget yourself, Evy. You're not the baby anymore. I have a sister now that's younger than you are. What do you think, Meg?" he asked, moving behind Margaret's chair, plucking the cards from her hands. "Keep an old man company?"

She smiled up at him. It was apparent that Jonathan was working very hard to lift their spirits, and in a way it was working. "All right," she said. "I believe that I would like to get out of this house for a little while." She got to her feet. "Will you be all right if we go, Evelyn?"

Evelyn nodded. "Yes. Rick left me a gun." She swallowed hard. "I just don't want to have to use it."

Margaret shook her head, crouching in front of Evelyn. "You won't. He's not going to come back. He's gotten what he wants; he'll leave you alone now. And the Medjai will take the artifacts away, and his fight will be with them. Not you." She was trying to make Evelyn feel better, but the way her eyes clouded up when she spoke indicated that she was making herself feel worse.

Evelyn reached out and took Margaret's hands. "He's going to be all right."

Margaret looked to the floor, nodding. "I know. I just hope that--" her voice trailed off.

"What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head and got to her feet, turning to Jonathan. "Shall we go?" Her smile was a little forced, but Jonathan pretended not to notice.

"We shall," he said, offering his arm. She took it while Jonathan bent to drop a kiss on top of Evelyn's head. "We'll be right back," he said.

***

Jonathan Carnahan had come to expect the happy accidents that fell into his life. There was never any need to plan anything, as far as he was concerned. When he planned things, they always went spectacularly wrong. But when he just plunged headlong into life, he invariably stumbled upon a happy accident that made everything work out right.

For example, taking Margaret out with him that afternoon had been an impulsive decision. He had looked at her sitting at the dining room table, absentmindedly shuffling his deck of cards over and over, and his heart had just gone out to her. She had looked so happy this morning; her face had simply glowed, and he had meant to ask her what had put her in such a good mood. But the opportunity had been lost when the stolen artifacts were located, and now she sat at the dining room table, the joy gone from her face so completely that Jonathan wondered if he had imagined it. Now she just looked worried, and a little lost. So bringing her along had just been a way to try and cheer her up, to get her mind off the worry.

He had never thought of her value as a bargaining tool. Jonathan had balked at the first hotel she had suggested they try; the surly maitre d' had thrown him out the night before without a second look. But the nasty little man actually smiled at the fair-skinned Western woman with the clear gray eyes. And when she spoke to him in his native tongue, all traces of surliness left him, and it seemed that he couldn't do enough for her. Jonathan watched with barely concealed amusement as Margaret went with the man into the hotel dining room to make delivery arrangements for their dinner. 

He settled himself at a barstool to wait for her. It was almost too early to drink. Almost, but not quite, Jonathan decided. He ordered a scotch with plenty of ice; the day was hot. He sipped at the top layer of liquor-- the warm part that hadn't hit the ice-- and congratulated himself on yet another happy accident. He glanced around. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who didn't find it too early for a drink. A fair-haired gentleman sat a few stools down the bar, staring into a glass of…well, from this distance, Jonathan couldn't tell what he was drinking, but whatever it was he took it straight. And he was on his third.

As if he could feel Jonathan's eyes on him, the other man looked up. He acknowledged Jonathan with a nod, and Jonathan raised his glass in response. He took another sip of his scotch, his gaze settling on the bar's entrance. He wondered how much longer Margaret was going to be. Perhaps he should have gone with her…

The gentleman down the bar said something, but it was too quiet for Jonathan to hear. "I beg your pardon?" Jonathan asked, turning in his stool back to the blond man. He picked up his glass and walked, just a little unsteadily, towards Jonathan.

"I said, 'Do you like it here?'" His accent was American. And he wasn't quite slurring his words.

Jonathan shrugged, glancing around the room again. "Oh, I don't know. It's not too bad. I've certainly seen worse places. In Cairo, for example, there's this little hole in the wall that--"

"No," the stranger shook his head emphatically, plopping himself down on the stool next to Jonathan's. He waved a hand out the window. "I mean here. Egypt. You like this place?"

"Oh." Jonathan was still for a second. Memories of Egypt tumbled through his brain, and hardly any of them were pleasant ones. His parents had died here. His dreams of becoming an archaeologist like his father had died here, too. A scarab had crawled through his arm, eating its way painfully through his flesh. His sister had died right in front of his eyes. "No," he finally replied. "I don't like this place."

"Me neither." The American shook his head, staring into his glass. He picked it up, swirling the liquid. Jonathan could see now that he was drinking scotch too. The blond man shook his head again and tossed back the liquor, draining the glass. "Never did," he continued. "Always thought it was a messed up country. My brother thought that too, but he thought he could get rich here. Damned fool."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. This man obviously had a few drinks in him, and wanted to talk. Jonathan could relate to that; he'd certainly been there before. "Didn't work out, eh?" he asked sympathetically. 

The other man snorted, gesturing to the bartender for another round. "No, it sure as hell didn't."

"I know the feeling." Yes, Jonathan could relate to that too. How many years had he stumbled his way from unsuccessful dig to unsuccessful dig, never coming home with anything worthwhile? How many times had Evelyn looked at him with that sad and disappointed expression on her face? Until that one day, coming home from that dig in Thebes, when he'd stopped in a bar, and stolen the right thing from the wrong man. Rick O'Connell had swung at him, Jonathan had slipped out before the brawl really started, and everything had changed. 

"I doubt that," the other man replied, turning to look straight at Jonathan. "You're still around to talk about it."

"Oh," Jonathan said again. Now he understood. 

"Yeah," the stranger said, sipping at his fourth scotch. "It's been a while now. But I got her. I got the bitch that killed him." He pounded a fist into his chest, so hard that Jonathan's eyes widened. "Got her right where it hurts," he continued.

"Indeed." Jonathan really wished that Margaret would hurry up. This conversation was getting more and more disturbing by the second.

"Yeah." He let out a short burst of laughter. "Although I don't know. Maybe I went after the wrong thing. Maybe I should have killed _her_ brother, you know? Let her know how it feels."

Jonathan really didn't want to be a part of this conversation anymore. He shifted in his stool a little nervously. "Well, I don't know if that would be such a good--"

"Jonathan, if you're through in here, everything's--" Margaret's voice behind him died as abruptly as if someone had put a hand over her mouth. He started to turn to ask if she was all right, but he was too startled by the man in front of him. His face had gone completely red, his expression a mask of rage.

"So this is Jonathan, is it?" His voice shook with anger, but he didn't raise his voice. "Your brother? How interesting."

Puzzled, Jonathan turned around to look at Margaret. She had gone as white as the American had gone red. She clutched the edge of the bar, so tightly that her knuckles were white, but her fingertips were bright red. Her mouth worked, but for a moment no sound came out. Then, finally, she took a deep breath.

"Mr. Daniels." Her voice was quiet, but it rang clearly in Jonathan's ears. He felt a very large stone settle into his stomach, and for the space of a few heartbeats he was unable to move. All this time, he'd been talking with… 

"Evelyn." From behind him, Daniels spit out his sister's name, and Jonathan was confused. Why was he calling Margaret the wrong name? But Margaret didn't react to this. It was almost as if she expected to be called that. "How good of you to come along when you did. Your _brother_--" he made that word drip with acid-- "and I were just having a very interesting talk. Are you familiar with the way they deal with criminals here?" Margaret didn't respond to his question. She just clutched at the bar, her eyes going from Jonathan to the man behind him.

"Well, it's fascinating," Daniels continued. "If someone steals, they cut off his hand. Kind of biblical, really. And I was just telling old Jonathan here, before you joined us, that maybe I've been going about this the wrong way. It's not about taking those artifacts away from you. It's about making you suffer the way that I did when you took Ed away from me. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." Now Jonathan felt something that he knew only too well was a gun, poking him just under the ribs. "A brother for a brother."

Jonathan closed his eyes for a long moment. In celebrating the happy accidents that happened in his life, he had completely forgotten about the dreadful ones that occasionally plagued him. And this one had all the earmarks of a classic. 


	11. A Strong Pair of Arms

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Waiting was not as exciting as it looked. And since Rick had never thought that it looked very exciting in the first place, he was feeling a little frustrated. He wasn't bored; there was nothing boring about your family being threatened by a crazy man with a machine gun. But the waiting was really starting to get to him. Hours of being alert, every muscle in his body tensed up to act, were starting to wear him down.

Which was why Rick felt relief washing through him in an almost tangible wave when two of Ardeth's men joined them in their hiding place at one end of the row of storage buildings by the empty tracks. If the Medjai were back, then Daniels was on his way. If Daniels was on his way, then soon they would be able to stop hiding and start acting, and get this whole damn thing over with. He looked hopefully over at the three Medjai, who spoke too quietly for him to hear. Of course, they could have shouted and Rick still wouldn't have understood them. He watched Ardeth's face as they spoke, knowing that his friend was as ready to act as he was. To his surprise, however, Ardeth's face darkened as he listened to his men's report. He hissed out an order, and the men slipped away.

"What is it?" Rick muttered, sidling closer to his friend. Ardeth shook his head with a small twitch. He didn't look at Rick. He didn't look at anything; his eyes were fixed on something in the middle distance. "What is it?" Rick repeated.

"Daniels," Ardeth finally said. His voice sounded odd, a little strangled. "He has hostages."

"Damn." Rick rested the butt of his shotgun on the ground and looked across the empty trainyard. "Okay," he said, thinking out loud, puzzling the matter out in his brain. "So he's got hostages. We just have to figure out how to get them away from him before--"

"Hostages," Ardeth repeated, obviously not listening to a word Rick was saying. He spoke through clenched teeth. "Margaret and Jonathan."

Rick's eyes widened and he swore again. "_What? _How the hell did that happen? Did he go back to the house? What about Evy, and the kids? Are they okay?"

"I do not know," Ardeth replied. His jaw had relaxed a little, but his voice hadn't lost its tightness. "Daniels was seen leaving his hotel with them. One of my men saw a gun. They got into a car, and they are probably on their way here."

Ardeth had stopped clenching his teeth, but now Rick clenched his. "Okay," he said with deadly calm. "Let's just think for a minute. If they all got in the car, then they're not hurt. Not yet. We just need to wait till they get here, and we'll find a way to get them back. Okay?" He looked over at Ardeth, whose gaze was still fixed on nothing. He nudged the Medjai. "Hey. You with me here?"

Ardeth turned to him then, and Rick caught his breath in surprise. He was used to seeing the Medjai chieftain looking angry and intense. Hell, that was his normal expression. But his eyes were different now. They were afraid. Rick had never seen fear in Ardeth's eyes before. And with all they had faced together, that was saying something. Then he remembered the way Ardeth and Margaret had looked at each other this morning in the dining room, their hands intertwined. In a flash, it all made sense. Of course.

Ardeth blinked then, and the fear in his eyes faded a little. "Yes," he said finally. "I am with you."

Rick nodded. "Good. So we wait." He groaned inwardly as he said this. More waiting. Fantastic.

***

The reception at the museum had only been three days ago. Margaret remembered the dashing fair-haired man in the tuxedo. She remembered the way he had smiled when he had offered her a glass of champagne. She remembered his cultured manner, his kind way of speaking. She had never flirted with a man before, but his clear blue eyes had made her feel like she was the only other person in the room. When she had first met him, he had mesmerized her.

The man she had met at the reception bore little to no resemblance to the man currently driving the car. Sweaty and disheveled from the combination of alcohol and the afternoon heat, Daniels held the gun on Jonathan with one hand while grappling with the steering wheel with the other. Margaret didn't know where they were going. Was he taking them to some deserted area where he would kill them both? Were these the last minutes of her life? She sat alone in the backseat, wishing that she had the strength to open the door and hurl herself out of the car. But that would mean leaving Jonathan alone, and she couldn't do that. Daniels may be a little drunk and a little crazed, but he wasn't stupid. Holding the gun on Margaret would mean taking his attention away from Jonathan, who could try to overpower him. But by threatening Jonathan, he had them both.

The car turned a corner, and Margaret could see where they were. They were at the train station. A spark of hope was kindled inside of her. Ardeth was here. And Rick, and the Medjai. She and Jonathan would be rescued.

"What is this?" For having a gun pointed at his midsection, Jonathan's voice was surprisingly calm. "Are we going on a trip?"

Daniels laughed, a sharp sound that scared Margaret even more. "I am," he replied. "You two are just coming to see me off. And then…well, I don't see you leaving here any time soon." He stopped the car and turned it off. "Get out," he said, sparing a glance over his shoulder to Margaret. "And don't even think about going anywhere. I got your big brother right here. You run one step and I blow his head off."

Margaret felt numb as she opened the car door; she had to flex her fingers a few times to make sure they were still there. Her feet were likewise unsure; the first steps she took away from the car were unsteady, as if she was drunk. She stepped up beside Jonathan, grasping for his hand. His hand felt hot where hers was cold, and he held onto it tightly, threading his fingers through hers.

"No. Not that close." Daniels punctuated his command with the gun, jabbing it under Jonathan's ribs. "You come over here." He reached around in front of Jonathan and snatched at Margaret's arm, pulling her over so that Daniels essentially stood in between them.

"Now," he said, his fingers digging painfully into Margaret's upper arm. "I'd like you to see something before I go." He marched them across the empty trainyard, towards a line of storage buildings. Margaret's eyes darted from side to side as they walked, hoping desperately to see a glimpse of black. But she didn't see Ardeth anywhere. Or Rick. Where were they? She tried not to turn her head; she didn't want Daniels to know that she was looking for anyone. The more she looked, the more that spark of hope dimmed, and then flickered out completely. They weren't here. She and Jonathan were on their own.

"Not leaving for a while yet," Daniels mumbled under his breath. "Got plenty of time."

"Time for what?" Jonathan asked, as if he wasn't talking to a man that was holding a gun on him.

"I want to show your sister something," he said with a grin. He nudged Jonathan forward with the gun. "Go on. Up there." 

They mounted the stairs to a platform that was in front of the storage buildings: Jonathan first, followed by Daniels, who pulled Margaret along beside him. Once on the platform, Daniels let go of Margaret and dug into his pocket. Pulling out a key, he opened the padlock holding the second building closed, flinging the door wide. He sighed in satisfaction.

"Look," he said, pointing inside. "You see that? I win."

Margaret and Jonathan peered into the dim building. They could barely make out four large crates, but they could see them well enough to recognize them. They were the same ones that had been delivered the day before to the house. The same ones that Daniels had killed Claudia to take back.

But there was something else in there, too. Margaret leaned forward a little, trying to accustom her eyes to the dimness after the bright sunshine. Once she did, however, she gasped and jumped back, bumping into Jonathan, who grabbed onto her shoulders.

"Who…" Jonathan's voice was bewildered.

Margaret shook her head hard. "Dr. Hassid," she said, tears of shock springing to her eyes. 

The broken and very dead body of the Alexandria museum's curator, the man who had run the auction, lay crumpled in front of the crates, tossed into the building like a forgotten rag doll. The man who had been so taken with her when she spoke Arabic to him. The man who had arranged for Evelyn to see the artifacts from Hamunaptra.

"What?" Daniels pushed past the two to look inside the building. He shrugged when he saw the body. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about him. He got what he deserved. I paid him really well to rig that auction; those artifacts were supposed to be mine." He turned his glare on Margaret, his teeth bared like an angry dog. She shrank away from him, and Jonathan's hands tightened on her shoulders. "But then you showed up, with your low-cut dress and your pretty smile, and you charmed your way into his good graces. I saw him that night, fawning over you. He forgot all about me, and the money I paid him." He grinned a little madly. "So I simply had to remind him. He's not going to double-cross anyone ever again. Well, he's not going to do much of anything ever again."

He shook his head. "But that's not important. I want you to _look_--" He reached out, grabbing Margaret by the back of the neck, dragging her away from Jonathan, forcing her to look into the building. "Look at those boxes. They're mine. Not yours. You tried to take them from me, but I took them right back, didn't I?" He released her with a shove; Margaret stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, crying out as she landed painfully on her wrist. Jonathan took a step towards her, but Daniels stopped him, waving the omnipresent gun.

"I win," Daniels repeated, his voice clear, cold, and just slightly unhinged.

***

Rick and Ardeth both heard the car at the same time. It didn't stop in front of the station's ticket office, like most of the cars that came in. This one sped a little haphazardly around the perimeter of the trainyard, pulling up at the other end of the row of buildings from where the two men now stood. It stopped, and three people got out: two men and a woman. They walked towards the platform, and as they came nearer, Rick could tell that it was definitely them. Daniels had Margaret's arm in a tight grip, and Jonathan walked a little ahead. As they mounted the steps, sunlight flashed off the gun that they both now saw in Daniels' hand. Rick heard Ardeth swear under his breath and he grabbed the Medjai's arm, stopping him just as he was about to run to the platform.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rick hissed as quietly as he could. He tightened his grip on Ardeth's arm and dragged him bodily around the side of the building. "We can't just run out there. We make a move now, he kills them both, you hear me?" Eyes closed, Ardeth nodded. "Good. Now, where are your men?"

Ardeth opened his eyes, and Rick watched the fear in them fade further as he thought about strategy. "Some are inside the station, waiting to surprise the men who will come to load the train," he replied. "There are others directly opposite us. They will come out at my signal."

"All right." Rick wasn't sure what to do next, but Ardeth still looked tense, as if he might twist out of his grasp and try and save Margaret on his own. "Surprise is all we've got right now," he said, trying to further calm his friend. "We have to hold onto that." Ardeth closed his eyes again for a brief moment, took a deep breath, and nodded. Satisfied that Ardeth wasn't about to run out on a suicide mission, Rick let go of his arm. He crooked a small smile. "We can't do this my way, with guns blazing. We have to go your way. You know, stealthy."

Ardeth shook his head, not giving in to Rick's attempt at humor. He peered around the edge of the building. Rick stepped up behind him and looked too. From their angle, they couldn't see the top of the platform, but they could hear voices. Mostly Daniels' voice, but a woman's voice-- Margaret's-- cried out suddenly. Ardeth tensed up again, and Rick laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. Then they could hear her voice again: a quiet murmur from above. She was talking. They couldn't hear what she said, but she continued to speak. She was still alive.

"She's okay," Rick said, as much to himself as to Ardeth. .

Ardeth gave a brief nod, his eyes still trained on the platform. "I would give my life for her." He spoke so quietly that Rick thought at first that he had imagined it. He wondered if Ardeth had meant to say that out loud; he wasn't the kind of person to voice his feelings that way. 

But Rick responded anyway. "I know," he said, squeezing Ardeth's shoulder. "But you won't have to. We'll get her back."

***

"Yes," Margaret said. "You win." She slowly got to her feet and faced Daniels, struggling to keep her voice calm. "You have what you want," she continued. "The artifacts are yours. Please, just let us go."

"What I want?" Daniels repeated, speaking over her. "You think that I have what I want? Not even close. What I want," he said, his voice calmer now, but still tinged with madness, "is my brother back. I want to turn back the clock fourteen years and talk Ed out of coming to this godforsaken place. I want him to have never laid eyes on you, Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell. But you can't do that for me, can you? You can't give me my brother." Lips white, Margaret shook her head slowly. "Well, then," he continued with the same insane calm, "I'll just take yours instead." The hand holding the gun shook just a little as he raised it towards Jonathan's head. Jonathan reflexively backed away a couple of steps, closer to the edge of the loading platform.

"No!" The word tore out of Margaret with a cry. "Please, Mr. Daniels, please. Listen to me. You have to listen to me." She was careful not to step towards him, or make any move that he might consider threatening. She didn't want to risk him pulling that trigger. Jonathan pulled his eyes away from the barrel of the gun and looked at Margaret, his eyes huge in his suddenly very white face. She raised her hands in the most placating gesture she could think of and kept talking, her voice pitched low like she spoke to Hannah when she was throwing a fit and wouldn't listen to anyone. "Please. You're right. You're right about everything, you know. It was my fault." She didn't know what to say; all she knew of this Ed Daniels was what Rick, Evelyn, and Ardeth had discussed the other day in the parlor. And the other details of the O'Connells' first trip to Hamunaptra were sketchy in her memory. But she had to keep talking, had to keep his attention, had to keep him thinking that she was really Evelyn.

Daniels nodded slowly, his eyes sliding off of Jonathan and settling back on Margaret again. "Yeah. I know. You killed him."

She shook her head. "No, I didn't. I swear. It was an accident. None of us should have gone to Hamunaptra, but we did. I didn't mean to read from that book. But I did, and your brother…" She glanced over at Jonathan, a little helplessly. What else could she say? Jonathan stared back at her, his head moving in the briefest of nods. She had to keep talking.

"Your brother," she continued, looking back to Daniels. "He was so brave. He tried to save us, you know." She had no idea if that was the truth or not, but what did that matter now? "I've never met anyone with so much courage." As she was speaking, she noticed that Daniels' shoulders lost a little of their tension, his grip on the gun was a little less tight. She was doing well. If she kept talking, maybe she could placate him, and he would let them go.

"You're lying," Daniels finally said, his face twisting in pain. "You don't remember a damn thing about my brother. After all this time, you want me to think that you remember him?"

"Of course I do!" She risked another look at Jonathan, who was still nodding. Daniels still held the gun to Jonathan's head, but his attention was now on Margaret. She took a deep breath. "I know it's been a long time," she said, "and so much has happened. But I've never forgotten Hamunaptra. And I never will." These words were easy to say; they were the truth. "I had never been so afraid in my life." Also the truth. Two years of nightmares could attest to that. For Margaret, that nightmare had ended last night. But for the man that threatened them now, the nightmare continued. Hamunaptra would never let him go.

"And I remember your brother," she continued, realizing quickly that she had nearly strayed off the topic at hand, and doing so right now could be deadly. "I remember his intelligence and his bravery--" had she already said bravery? "--and, why…" Her mind reached out, grasping at something, anything, to say that would distract this madman. "You look just like him!" she burst out. Seizing upon this new notion, she followed the train of thought eagerly. "It struck me the moment I saw you at the museum that night, that's…that's why I was so startled at first. The resemblance is just…" Her voice trailed off as she realized Jonathan was shaking his head. Frantically. She was wrong. A heavy feeling settled into her stomach, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

Daniels didn't scream. He didn't rant or rave. He just looked at her incredulously, like she had grown a third eye. "You bitch," he said finally. "You don't remember the first thing about Ed. He was about three inches shorter than me. His hair was dark. His eyes were dark. You lying little _bitch_!" That last word was a shout, and Margaret flinched. Daniels swung his arm around; the gun was now pointed straight at her. She shook her head dumbly, all her senses focused on the barrel of that revolver. She was going to die. That gun would be the last thing she saw.

But then the gun flew to point straight up. Jonathan, standing momentarily forgotten just behind the American, seized upon the perfect moment-- the only moment-- to act. He grabbed for Daniels' arm with both hands, forcing the hand with the gun straight up into the air. Startled, Daniels pulled the trigger. It made a deafening crack, but the shot went wild, straight up into the sky. In the next moment, Jonathan smashed his elbow into Daniels' face, hooking his foot around the man's leg at the same time. The momentum of the punch made Daniels stagger backwards, his feet entangled with Jonathan's. Jonathan fell forwards onto the platform. Daniels fell back another step, trying to regain his balance, when he ran out of platform; his foot came down on empty air. With a yell, he dropped the gun and lunged forward, trying to counterbalance. His arms flailed, reaching out for an anchor.

His hand closed around Margaret's arm. Daniels pulled on her so hard that she heard a seam tear on her sleeve. She pulled back frantically, trying to twist out of his grip. But he was too heavy, aided by the gravity that pulled at him. He was going over the side of the platform. And he was taking Margaret with him.

***

They listened. All they could hear was the murmur of voices, but nothing was distinct enough to tell what was being said. Margaret cried out again, and Ardeth's grip on the machine gun tightened so much that Rick was surprised it didn't snap in two.

Then two things happened to change everything. Daniels began to shout, and Rick distinctly heard the word "bitch." A heartbeat later, there was a gunshot, and Ardeth sprang into action. With a shout that sounded more like a battle cry, he was on his feet and charging for the platform, Rick about half a step behind him. Rick realized dimly that it _had_ been a battle cry; a handful of Ardeth's men came from all different directions. Ardeth paused at the foot of the platform to give quick orders, all the time looking over his shoulder, trying to see what was going on up above. Rick simply ran up the stairs. So much for stealthy. Looked like they were going with his way after all.

***

Margaret was losing her balance. Daniels was simply too heavy, and he was pulling her too hard. She felt her body start to rock forward, felt the disorientation that came with the beginning of a fall. And this was going to be a long fall.

Then a pair of arms locked around her waist, holding her down. Jonathan, not even bothering to get up from where he had fallen, had knelt up and thrown his arms around her, pulling her back. She was now being pulled in two directions at once. Jonathan's arms around her waist bent her almost in two, while Daniels' grip on her arm threatened to pull her arm out of its socket.

The gun lay forgotten at their feet. Margaret couldn't bend down to pick it up. Daniels was too intent on staying upright, and Jonathan didn't dare let go of his sister-in-law. They were in a bizarre kind of stalemate.

***

Margaret looked like a wishbone. That was Rick's first thought when he reached the top of the platform. Daniels teetered on the edge, holding Margaret's arm in a deathgrip, and Jonathan knelt beside her, his arms around her waist. Both men were pulling in opposite directions.

Rick's first instinct was to shoot. He pulled a revolver out of his shoulder holster, but as he did so, he realized what a bad idea that was. From this angle, Margaret was a human shield for Daniels. It was virtually impossible to hit Daniels without hitting Margaret too.

Before he could think, Ardeth had dashed up the platform stairs and was standing beside him. In the space of a heartbeat, he sized up the situation. Dropping the machine gun, he grabbed the smaller revolver from Rick's hand, calling out Margaret's name and a command Rick couldn't understand. At the same time he aimed the gun right at Margaret's back.

Rick was aghast. "What the hell are you--" Time seemed to move in slow motion as Ardeth's finger pulled the trigger. At the same time, Margaret threw herself violently to the left, taking Jonathan with her. The bullet struck Daniels square in the chest, and he fell from the platform to the tracks below.

***

"MARGARET! MOVE LEFT!"

The words were in Arabic. Without even thinking, she yanked her arm away from Daniels in a superhuman motion, throwing herself onto the platform to her left. Jonathan tumbled down beside her, his arms still around her. The gunshot above their heads was impossibly loud; Margaret clung to Jonathan instinctively. Jonathan curled around her, pushing her head down. There was silence, and then they heard Daniels' body hit the ground below. She took a long shuddering breath, and tried to make her body relax. She had to make a conscious effort to make her hands let go of Jonathan's arms. Strange.

Then Ardeth was there, kneeling at her side and pulling her into his arms. He pressed her close, murmuring words she didn't even hear. She just closed her eyes and held onto him, feeling her body relax in his arms. He was there, and she was safe. Again.

Rick was there too, helping Jonathan to his feet. He knelt down, touching Margaret's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Margaret nodded, easing back from Ardeth's embrace, but not letting go of him. "I'm all right," she replied, her voice low and almost steady. Rick touched her shoulder again, where her sleeve had torn away from her dress a little. She looked at it and sighed. "I've had such bad luck with sleeves lately," she said a little mournfully.


	12. A Small Gold Watch and What Has to Be

Ardeth's brow furrowed

Chapter Twelve

It was all over. That was what they kept telling themselves as they headed back to the house. Ardeth and the Medjai had taken possession of the artifacts from Hamunaptra, and were prepared to deal with the authorities that were bound to show up after such a violent event. The rest of them should go home, Ardeth had said. They should make sure that Evelyn and the children were safe. Margaret walked between Rick and Jonathan, each man holding one of her arms, although she kept protesting that she didn't need any help. But the bewildered look in her eyes said otherwise; shock was still evident in her manner. So they helped her walk home.

Evelyn was nearly beside herself with worry when they arrived, and she launched herself into her husband's arms. She looked over Rick's shoulder to Margaret and Jonathan, taking in their disheveled appearance and Margaret's torn dress.

"What happened?" She asked. "Jonathan, what did you do?"

Jonathan frowned at this automatic accusation, and opened his mouth to defend himself, but Margaret spoke up first.

"He saved my life," she said, placing a hand on his arm. Evelyn looked from them up to her husband, who nodded.

"It's true, Evy. Margaret wouldn't be here without Jonathan."

Evelyn stepped out of her husband's arms and walked over to her brother, embracing him. "Forgive me," she murmured. He held her tight and kissed the top of her head.

"Nothing to forgive, old mum," he said, rubbing her back. He crooked a small smile that she couldn't see. "I'm just as surprised as you are."

Alex wanted to hear all about everything, and Jonathan found himself telling the story of that afternoon's events at least twice over. Margaret was too restless to listen; she paced the kitchen a couple of times before finally sitting at the dining room table. Rick found her there a couple of minutes later, her elbows resting on the table, her head in her hands. He pulled a chair over next to her, sitting down and touching her arm.

"Hey." She didn't jump at his touch. She hardly reacted at all; her face was expressionless as she looked over at him. "You okay here?" 

She nodded slowly. "Yes," she replied. "I'm fine." But her brow was furrowed and her eyes were focused inward, as if her mind was churning on something very important.

"It's all over, you know," he said, squeezing her shoulders. She still looked rather shell-shocked, which surprised Rick. It had been a terrifying afternoon, but Margaret hadn't looked this shaken the day before, when she had hidden under the bed from Daniels and his men. She was really rattled this time.

Margaret nodded again, still not really acknowledging him. "It is," she said quietly. "It really is." Her gaze dropped to the table, and she didn't say anything else. Rick had the unsettling feeling that they were talking about two different things.

"I hate to be the voice of reason here," Jonathan said a few moments later, "because God knows I'm not used to it."

"What is it, Jonathan?" Evelyn asked.

"Well, weren't we supposed to have left today?"

Evelyn's mouth sagged open in surprise. "Were we?" She thought for a moment. "No, that can't be right," she said. But her voice was uncertain. 

As she dashed upstairs to get the tickets home, Rick got up and walked back into the living room, nodding slowly. "I think you're right," he said. "We were staying until two days after the auction. And that's--"

"Today," Jonathan finished. 

"Yes," Evelyn called from the top of the stairs. She came down the stairs more slowly than she had gone up, looking at the now useless tickets. "We should have left this morning at half-past ten." She dropped into the armchair, tossing the tickets on the side table. "Now what?"

"After the day I've had?" Jonathan stood up, straightening his jacket with an exaggerated gesture. "This will be dead easy. I'll just go get new ones."

"Can I go this time, Mother?" Alex was showing all the signs of a child that had been kept indoors far too long.

Evelyn looked at Rick, who shrugged his assent. "All right," she said. "Just please try and be careful." 

Alex jumped to his feet and ran to the front door, waiting impatiently for his uncle, who smirked. "And I guess we're leaving now," he said. "Quite right, Alex. Sooner rather than later, right?" He turned to follow his nephew.

"Wait a second," Rick called, halting Jonathan's progress to the front door. Jonathan turned, eyebrows raised in a question. Rick cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "Well, there's just one thing." Now Evelyn raised her eyebrows too. "How many tickets should we get?" He finally asked.

Evelyn's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Six, of course. Are you suggesting that somebody stay behind…" Her voice trailed off and Rick nodded his head toward the dining room. She glanced in there, where Margaret was still sitting at the table. "Oh."

The room fell silent. Margaret looked up, suddenly aware that everyone was looking at her. She stood up and took a deep breath. "I should go upstairs and start packing," she said, her voice small but strong. Her eyes were unusually bright and she blinked repeatedly. "I'd hate to get back to London and find I'd left something here." She glanced down at the floor briefly and then back up, not really looking at anyone. "Excuse me." Her footsteps on the stairs sounded slow, almost reluctant, as she went to her bedroom.

"Uncle Jon!" Alex called from the front door. "Please can we go now?"

With a glance at Rick and Evelyn, Jonathan shrugged and left the room. Evelyn looked at her hands. Rick looked up the stairs. 

"I'll be right back," he said. Evelyn nodded, and Rick went upstairs to talk to his sister.

***

The trunk at the foot of the bed lay open, and Margaret put another dress inside. She carefully folded the suit she had worn to the auction, reflecting that she would need to buy a new blouse for it. Putting the suit inside the trunk, she turned her attention to the remaining pile of clothing on the bed. She had taken everything out of the cedar wardrobe and was now carefully packing it all away.

Rick tapped at her door and opened it, not waiting for her acknowledgement. He looked at her trunk, the clothes on her bed, and finally at Margaret. "You want to tell me what's going on here?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, all her attention focused on folding a skirt, not looking at Rick. "I'm packing."

"And you're going back to London with us?" She nodded, smoothing out the wrinkles in the cotton. "Why?"

She looked up at him now, confusion on her face. "I live there," she replied. She raised her chin, her jaw set a little stubbornly. "Or am I no longer welcome in your house?"

"Of course you are, you know that," he replied. She said nothing, she just looked at him. Rick sighed. "But what about Ardeth?"

Her mouth compressed into a tight line at the mention of his name. Margaret's eyes closed for a brief moment. When she opened them, they were bright again, like they had been downstairs. She sighed and very deliberately turned her attention back to her packing. "What about him?"

Rick shook his head impatiently. "Come on, Meg. Don't play this game with me. You love him." She paused in her movements, her back stiffening at his words. "You love him," Rick repeated. "Don't you?" Margaret's head dropped suddenly, as if she no longer had the strength to hold it up. A couple of breaths later, she nodded, her head twitching as if she was giving this information against her will. "Then why are you going?" he asked. "You have to know that he loves you." 

Another pause, and another nod. "I have to go back," came her whispered reply.

"The hell you do," Rick said. "Meg, you know how much you mean to all of us, and we'll miss you. But you don't have to come back with us. If you love him half as much as he loves you, I really think you should stay here."

Margaret turned back to him, blinking furiously. There were tears on her lashes, but her face was determined. She shook her head. "I can't, Rick. I just can't." She didn't look cold and calculating, like someone who was trying to squirm her way out of a relationship. She looked like someone whose whole world was ending.

Rick sighed, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. Maybe he should have sent Evelyn to talk to her, instead. He was suddenly very aware that he wasn't really Margaret's brother, no matter how close they felt to one another. There were parts of her personality that he just didn't know and didn't understand. And this was one of them.

"Meg," he finally said. "I don't get it. What do you want him to do? You already know that he loves you. He would do anything for you. I saw that today at the train station. So do you--"

Margaret made a sound that was between a laugh and a sob. "I know, Rick. I know. He would do anything for me. That's the problem, isn't it?" She sank down to sit on the bed, her blue silk evening gown clutched in her hands. "I take him away from who he is." She shook her head. "Before he's a man, he's the leader of the Medjai. I didn't always believe in the Medjai, you know. For the longest time, I thought they were this long-dead mythical tribe. But even then, I knew who they were. They were, and they are, a very important people with a very sacred duty. I took him away from that today." Rick shook his head, and would have protested, but Margaret kept talking, not letting him interrupt her. "I did, Rick, and you know it. You were there to retrieve those artifacts. That was his job, as leader of the Medjai. But he went after me instead." She dropped her eyes down to the dress in her lap, absentmindedly running the silk through her fingers. "I was sitting there, on the train platform, and Ardeth had his arms around me. I looked over his shoulder, and his men were looking at us. And I just felt…I felt _wrong_, Rick. Like I shouldn't be there." 

"You don't know that," Rick said, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her. "They could have been looking at you for any number of reasons. Like--"

"No." She looked at Rick now. Her eyes were still wet with unshed tears, but her gaze was steady. "It wasn't just at the train station. It was this morning, too. When you were all first leaving the house. And they're right. I'm a distraction. I'm not where his mind should be. And if I stay here, I'll ruin him." 

Rick shook his head. "Shouldn't you let him make that decision?" he asked quietly. "He should have a say in this. Have you talked about this with him?"

She shook her head, making a small sound of negation. "But he knows. He made his choice already. He's not here, is he?" She stood up again, shaking out the dress and folding it. "He stayed there with his men, and sent us away. And he was right to do so. That's where he should be. And this is where I should be. With you, and Evelyn and the kids." She shrugged, trying to look unconcerned, but the tears in her voice said otherwise. "We just weren't meant to be. I don't think he'll be back." Two tears fell from her face and landed on the dress, staining the silk. She finished folding it quickly and placed it in the trunk.

Rick stood up too, and put his arms around his sister, stopping her activity. She leaned into him for a few moments, letting herself be comforted. "Okay," he finally said. "I still don't agree with what you're doing, but it's okay. You'll always have a home with us. You know that." She nodded against his chest. She pulled away, swiping at the tears in her eyes, but she did not cry. Rick leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Go ahead and pack. I'll come up in a little while and bring your trunk downstairs, all right?" She nodded, trying to smile but not succeeding. 

Rick left the room feeling completely dissatisfied with the conversation. Margaret seemed so sure about everything. But Rick had the feeling that Ardeth would indeed be back. And he would not be very happy about this turn of events.

***

The rest of the afternoon was a flurry of activity. Rick settled easily into his role of family pack-mule, which seemed to come with being a dad. Trunks, bags, and boxes were brought downstairs, where they lined the front hallway, ready to be taken to the docks in the morning.

Afternoon stretched into evening, and the sun set upon the O'Connells' last night in Egypt. Rick paused for a few moments to watch the sun sink in the sky. Egypt certainly had a lot of memories for him, but he would be very glad to leave. And this time he was never coming back. 

A noise in the front hallway made him turn around. Margaret was there, kneeling in front of her trunk, putting a couple more things inside. Her eyes were dry, and she looked much calmer.

"Meg," he said, walking up behind her, "You can't fit anything else in there." She straightened up, turning to him with a small smile. The smile didn't reach her eyes; they still looked heartbroken. But Rick was glad to see her at least smile. She looked down again at the trunk with a small sigh.

"You may be right," she said. "I have another bag upstairs. I'll put the rest of my things in there." 

After she was back upstairs, Rick noticed that she'd left her trunk open. He moved to close it when there was a knock at the door. He threaded his way through the luggage to open it.

Ardeth Bay stood there, nearly invisible against the night. Rick waved his friend inside.

"Come on in. Try not to break your neck."

Ardeth looked at the bags, boxes, and trunks that all but filled the front hallway. "You were only here a week?"

Rick shook his head in mock resignation. "Incredible, isn't it? I guess that I should expect it, though, travelling with two women. Packing light just isn't something that they do."

Ardeth raised an eyebrow. "Surely you are not blaming your daughter for this. She is far too young to pack so many things."

Rick laughed. "God help me when she's old enough for that. No, I meant Evelyn and Meg. I swear, almost every single thing here belongs to them…" His voice trailed off as Ardeth turned slowly around to look at him, a question in his eyes. Rick's face fell, all the humor suddenly gone from the conversation. "That's right. She hasn't told you." Rick swore inwardly, wanting to kick himself. Hard.

"Told me?" His voice was very low, almost expressionless, but Rick still winced to hear it, not relishing what he was about to say.

"That she's going back to London. With us."

For a moment, Ardeth didn't react at all, and Rick wondered if the Medjai had even heard him. But then Ardeth slowly shook his head. "No," he replied softly. "She has not told me." His face was as stoic as ever, but Rick could see that his breathing had sped up a little, and his hands curled into reflexive fists. He looked back to the bags in the hallway, and Rick saw what Ardeth was looking at: Margaret's trunk. He hadn't closed it, and he could plainly see her blue silk gown neatly folded inside, next to a knit lace shawl.

Rick said nothing at first; he simply waited for Ardeth to look up at him again. When he did, Rick nodded towards the staircase. "She's upstairs," he said quietly. "Go on." Ardeth nodded. Face set, he turned and walked up the stairs. Rick let out a long sigh and shook his head. He hoped that Margaret knew what she was doing.

***

Ardeth did not knock at the door. He simply pushed it open, letting it bounce off the wall on its hinges. Margaret jumped at the noise, whirling from where she stood by her dressing table. When she realized who was there, she didn't speak at first; she simply looked at him. She did not smile.

He walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. "What is this?" he asked, gesturing to the carpetbag open on the floor beside her.

Taking a deep breath, Margaret turned back to the dressing table and continued to empty the contents of its drawers into the bag. "I'm packing," she said. "I'm going home."

Ardeth said nothing for a few moments; he just watched her pack. "And were you planning to tell me?" he asked finally.

Margaret didn't look up, her movements almost mechanical. "I didn't think you would come back."

In three strides, he had crossed the room to her, plucking her hairbrush out of her hand and putting it back on the table. He took her hands, stopping her from packing. She stood before him, her eyes downcast. "Why did you think this?" he asked. "Do you think I care so little for you?"

"I hoped as much," she replied quietly. "It would make this all a lot easier."

"No," he said, stepping in closer to her. He took her face between his hands, forcing her head up. His eyes captured hers. "You are my heart." She caught her breath at his words and tried to pull away from him, but he did not release her. "Last night was no dalliance. I told you that I have no intention of allowing you to go away again. And you will not. I will not allow you to go back to England. Your home is here now. With me."

She shook her head firmly. Tears swam in her eyes, however, and betrayed her true feelings. "No," she said. "It isn't. And you know that. My home is in England, with the O'Connells. Yours is here, in Egypt. In the desert, with the Medjai."

"You consider last night to be a mistake, then?" The tone in his voice was low, almost dangerous.

"No." She breathed the word. She took another deep breath to give strength to her voice. "I consider it a memory."

He let go of her then, almost pushing her away from him. She stumbled back a step, catching her balance on the dressing table. He stalked towards the door without a word. Margaret watched him go. Tears streamed freely down her face now, but she did not call him back. He stopped at the door, his hand on the doorknob.

"You do prefer England, then," he said quietly. He looked straight ahead as he spoke, at the bedroom door. His voice was flat; it didn't accuse or beg. "What we shared last night means nothing to you. You prefer England and the O'Connells to Egypt and me."

Margaret fought to control her breathing, fought to keep her voice level. She was nearly able to keep the sob from her throat as she answered him. "You may choose to think that."

"_No._" He whirled from the door, his voice almost a shout, and Margaret shrank back instinctively. She had never heard him raise his voice in anger before. Before she could blink, he was in front of her again, holding her upper arms in a crushing grip. "I do _not_ choose to think that." His voice was tight as he spoke through clenched teeth. His fingers dug into her arms, making her wince. "Because I know it is not the truth. Your body and your heart did not lie to me last night. Just as mine did not lie to you. You love me as I love you." 

"Please." Her voice very small, Margaret struggled to free herself, but he only held her tighter. 

"Tell me!" His eyes were wild, his voice filled with desperation. He shook her a little, as if he could force the words he wanted to hear from her that way. She gave a small sound, almost like a whimper, but he still did not release her. "Tell me you love me. That will not be a lie. Tell me!" he demanded once more.

"Of course I love you!" The words tore out of her, along with the sob she had been clamping down on for so long. Now that it had been released, her self-control shattered completely. Her body shook as she sobbed, held upright only by the strength of his hands. "Do you think I want this?" She was crying openly now, and she had to struggle to get the words out. "Do you think I want to go back to England, and leave my heart here with you? This is killing me!"

Her outburst of emotion softened Ardeth's anger. His grip on her arms eased as she wept in front of him. Margaret's legs seemed to give out and she sank to the chair by the dressing table. She stared at the floor, despair filling her face.

"I do love you," she repeated around the tears that clogged her chest, inhibiting her breathing.

Ardeth shook his head, the pain in her voice echoed in his eyes. "Then why--"

"Do you want to know the truth?" she asked suddenly, as if she hadn't heard him begin to speak. "I hate England." She gave a small involuntary laugh at her own words. "I do. It rains all the time. And it's cold there. It's so cold. It just sinks in, it becomes a part of your bones, and you shiver all the time and wonder if you'll ever truly be warm again. If I had a choice, I wouldn't live there. I love Rick. I love Evelyn, Jonathan, and I love the children. They're my family. But I can't stand England."

"Egypt is warm." Ardeth's voice was steady once more, the anger gone. "You would never be cold again. You have a choice. You will stay here." She tilted her head up to look at him. She shook her head slowly.

"And what would I do?" she asked quietly, swallowing her tears. "In Egypt. Where would I live?"

"That does not matter," he replied, lowering himself slowly to his knees in front of her. He reached up to her, his hands trailing up her arms until they settled at the back of her neck, his fingers slipping into the underside of the knot she had made of her hair. He pulled her head down until her forehead rested against his. "You are mine. I am yours. Our lives are to move forward together, not separately."

She pulled back just a little, looking at him in quiet sadness. "How?" she asked. "Would I live with you in the desert? You know that could never happen. Your people would never accept me as your wife." He shook his head reflexively, but his eyes had hardened, and she knew he was listening to her. "I lived in Egypt a long time, you know," she continued. "I know how things are. Westerners are tolerated, sometimes even welcomed. But they are not accepted. Your people would never trust me, and then they would grow to resent you."

"No," he said, his grip on the back of her neck tightening, his eyes falling closed at her words. But his protest was half-hearted; he knew she was right.

"Yes," she said. "I've seen it already, today. The way your men look at me when I am close to you. It's as though I'm defiling you somehow. You are their leader; you can't have your people lose respect for you. And if I were with you, they would do just that. They would resent you, and then you would resent me." She drew a deep breath, finding it harder to speak. A knot had begun to form in her throat, and Ardeth's grip on her neck was making her a little light-headed. But she would rather die than pull away from him now. "And one day you would look at me, and there would be no love in your eyes. And that would kill me." She shook her head slowly. "It has to be this way. You know it."

His eyes still closed, he dropped his hands from her neck to her shoulders. He pulled a little, and she came willingly into his arms, sliding off the chair so that they were kneeling together. He pressed her to him, her head against his shoulder as her arms came up to hold him as tightly as he held her. His embrace was almost painful in its intensity, but Margaret welcomed it.

They sat that way for several minutes before Ardeth spoke again. "When do you go?" His voice was ragged, as if he did not want to speak those words.

"The boat leaves at half-past ten tomorrow morning," she answered, her reply muffled against his shoulder.

He nodded, his arms tightening around her further. "And what is the time now?"

Margaret pulled away only slightly from his arms. Reaching up to the dressing table, she picked up her pocket watch and clicked it open. "Nearly nine o'clock."

Ardeth bowed his head, his eyes closing for a moment. He took a deep breath before he raised his head to look at her again. "I have you in my life for thirteen and a half hours more." She nodded, fresh tears forming in her eyes. He wiped at them with his fingertips, his hands shaking just a little. "You will not deny me this time with you."

"No," she said immediately. Denying him anything at this point was unthinkable. She brought her fingers up to touch his cheeks just above the tattoos there, where the tears brimming in his eyes would soon fall. "I couldn't. For then I would be denying myself as well."

His fingers continued to stroke her face for the space of a few heartbeats. Then his hands cradled her head and he drew her into him, his mouth seeking hers. She clung to him and returned his kiss as ardently as he gave it, their tears mingling together.

***

Evelyn brought the last suitcase downstairs and set it in the front hallway with the others. "Good heavens," she said, looking around. "These can't possibly all be ours." She heard an answering snort from the parlor, where her husband sat with a glass of whiskey. She walked in there to join him, casting a glance behind her at Margaret's still-open trunk. She plopped down beside Rick on the sofa, taking the glass from his hand and helping herself to a sip.

"She's coming back to England, then?" Evelyn asked.

Rick shrugged. "It seems that way. I don't agree with her, but I'm not the one to change her mind." He put his arm around his wife, and she leaned in to rest against his shoulder. "I know I'd follow you around the world if I had to."

"You've done that," Evelyn reminded him with a smile. "Several times." She handed the whiskey glass back to him and he sipped from it.

"True enough," he replied. He thought for a moment. "Who knows," he finally said. "Maybe Ardeth can talk her out of it."

Evelyn sighed. "He's running out of time," she said. "We leave in the morning. If he's going to talk her into staying, he'll have to get here soon."

"Oh, he's here."

Evelyn pushed away from Rick and looked at him in surprise. "He is?"

Rick nodded with a half-smile. "He showed up a couple hours ago. I sent him upstairs to talk to Meg. He's still up there."

"Really?" Evelyn raised her eyebrows. She settled back into her husband's arms, her lips twitching with a hint of a wicked smile. "Probably best not to disturb them, then." Rick smiled into her hair, kissing her head absently.

They were quiet for a few moments, then Evelyn spoke, her voice so soft that Rick almost didn't hear her over the ticking of the grandfather clock. "She does love him, you know."

He nodded slowly against her head, thinking. "He's been in love with her since the day he almost killed her at Hamunaptra. It just took him a long time to realize it."

***

After a couple of hours, despair gave way to quiet resignation, and the determination to make the most of the time they had left together. Ardeth drew the curtains tightly; neither of them had the desire to see the sun rise on the day she would leave. For a long time they lay wrapped in each other's arms, sharing their lives as they never had before. They talked of childhood triumphs and dreams, fears and secrets they had never shared with anyone else. It was as if they were determined to know everything there was to know about one another before they were parted.

The small lamp burned on Margaret's bedside table. They both wanted the light left on tonight. Ardeth lifted a hand and let it trail lazily down her cheek. She smiled, her eyes closing briefly as he covered that smile with a gentle kiss.

"I wish that I knew how to stop time," he said. "I would keep it forever on this night. There is no responsibility, no duty. And you will never leave." Margaret nodded in understanding, holding him a little more tightly.

"Unfortunately that's a power that none of us have," she said, picking her watch up from the bedside table and checking the time. They still had nearly seven hours left together. That thought cheered and saddened her at the same time. She took a deep breath, studying the small gold pocket watch in her hands.

"This watch belonged to my mother," she said softly. She shook her head. "I don't really remember her. When I came to the orphanage, this watch came with me. The nuns gave it back to me on my eighteenth birthday. For so long, this watch was the only family I had." She gave him a wan smile. Ardeth ran his fingers idly through her hair, resting his chin on top of her head as he listened to her speak. "And then Rick came back into my life, and the O'Connells became my family. They've done so much for me that I can never repay. And then there was you." She leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder and looking up into his face. She brought up a hand, tracing his beard where it lined his jaw. He smiled at her touch, his arms tightening around her as he dipped his head down for another kiss. Her lips moved smoothly under his; she had become quite proficient in such a short time. She smiled contentedly as the kiss ended.

"What was I saying?" she asked. He grinned down at her, tracing the curve of her bare shoulder with his fingertips. 

"The watch," he said. "Your family."

"Oh, yes." She looked at the pocket watch again. She pulled out the pin on its side and turned it. The watch's hands spun around backwards, stopping to show a time two hours sooner than it had previously. She pushed the pin in with a small click and turned it again, winding the gears. "This is the time in London," she said. Closing it again, she took one of his hands and pressed the watch into it. She turned in his arms so they were sitting face to face. "I want to give this to you." He frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed her fingertips against his lips, stopping him from speaking. "You once gave me something that was very precious to you, and you entrusted me to keep it safe. Now I'm doing the same." She closed his fingers around the watch firmly. "You must remember to wind it every day, or else it will stop." She tried to smile bravely at him, but her lower lip quivered, and the tears that filled her eyes betrayed her.

"In back of the O'Connell house," she continued, "there is a garden, with a small bench where I like to sit and look at the stars. Every night at nine o'clock, I will sit there and I will think of you. I will remember all that we have shared, and that way you will never leave my heart. So at night, when this watch says nine, perhaps you can think of me, too. That way, at least our minds can be together for a few moments, even if we cannot."

Ardeth cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the tears away from her eyes as he studied her face. "Every night," he replied, his voice as solemn as a vow. He leaned in to kiss her forehead, his lips moving slowly as if they were memorizing the feel of her, the taste of her skin. "You will be always dressed in blue," he said, his lips moving against her skin as he spoke. "The gown you wore at the reception. I have never seen a woman so beautiful." He kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her cheeks and her chin before settling on her mouth again. Her hands skimmed up his sides and came to rest on his shoulders, kneading the muscles there as he pulled her closer.

"We do not yet have to say goodbye, do we?" he asked, kissing a path down her neck. She shook her head a little dazedly as his mouth reached the hollow of her throat. He stopped kissing her then and looked at her, a wicked smile in his eyes.

"Good," he replied. He leaned over and placed the small watch back on the bedside table. He slid down in the bed, drawing Margaret into his arms again. "Then let us say nothing at all." With that, his mouth claimed hers again, and he rolled her body under his, covering them both with the blankets.

***

Morning came too soon, as it always does in cases like these. Much sooner than she would have liked, Margaret found herself at the docks, preparing to board the ship for the first leg of the journey back to England. Alex had run ahead to check on everyone's cabins, and to select the best one for himself and his uncle. Rick said goodbye to Ardeth with a clap on the shoulder, and an open invitation to visit in London. Evelyn embraced the Medjai chieftain, squeezed Margaret's arm, and boarded the gangplank blinking back tears. Crowds of people swarmed around them, but to Ardeth and Margaret, they were alone.

They looked at one another for a few long moments. They had already said their goodbyes in private, and there was nothing left to say. Their eyes devoured each other one last time. Then Ardeth took her hand and bowed over it the way Margaret liked so well. His lips brushed the back of her hand, and his eyes looked up to meet hers.

"You are my heart," he whispered.

Her eyes were wide, and they shimmered with tears that she tried desperately not to shed. "And you are mine," she whispered in reply.

With one last squeeze on her hand, he released her, and she turned and boarded the ship. Ardeth stood as if he was rooted to the spot, watching as the ship slowly left the harbor. He did not raise his hand in farewell, for that would be too final an ending. He simply watched until the ship disappeared on the horizon. Then he passed a hand over his eyes, took a deep breath, and left the docks. It would be a long ride out of Alexandria to rejoin his men; he should get started.

***

Margaret clutched the railing, watching the shore disappear. She imagined that she could still see the black dot that was Ardeth, but she knew that she was fooling herself. She barely reacted to the touch on her arm, so intent was she on watching Egypt for as long as she could.

"Margaret," Evelyn said. She put her arms around her sister-in-law, and they watched the land vanish together. "Are you sure this is what you want?" she finally asked.

Margaret closed her eyes, and then the tears began to fall. "No," she answered, her voice choked. "This isn't what I want. Not in the least." She opened her eyes again and looked at Evelyn, her mouth working furiously to keep from crying outright. "But what I want doesn't matter. Sometimes, what has to be is more important."

Evelyn didn't say anything, she just looked at Margaret for a few seconds, then pulled her into her arms. Margaret put her head down on Evelyn's shoulder and finally let herself cry, mourning her lost love. Evelyn held her tight, rocking her gently as the ship headed out to open sea.

*** 

Author's Note:

Okay, this is where things get a little strange. At thebeginning, I said that I didn't know how the story was going to end. Turns out I still don't. All along, I had intended for Ardeth and Margaret to part ways at the end, as I felt it was a more "realistic" ending. But as time went on, my more romantic nature started to speak up, saying that was a load of crap. I wasn't sure which way to end it, so I ended it both ways. If you're a child of the '80s like me, you read those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books growing up. Well, this is a "Choose Your Own Ending" story. So with that in mind:

If you think "Hey, it's sad, but it's right. Ardeth and Margaret are two very different people from two different worlds, and they could never make it work. They should stay apart," then go ahead to Chapter 13.

If you think "Heck, no! That's crap! They belong together! I demand a happy ending now!!" skip Chapter 13 and read Chapter 14 instead.

Of course, you can always read them both, and then decide which one you like better. I know that's what I'd do.


	13. Ending #1-- The Realistic Ending

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Even from her place in the sitting room, Evelyn could hear Alex pounding down the stairs. She kept her eyes on her book, hiding her smile as her son burst into the room.

"Mother, do you know where Aunt Meg is?"

Evelyn turned a page, still not looking up. "Alex, really. She's right in front of you. Are we going to have to get you glasses?" Her voice faltered as she looked up and realized that she was lying. The last time she had looked, Margaret had been in her usual armchair, here in the sitting room. Her knitting bag still sat beside the chair, with her current project on top, but Margaret was nowhere to be seen.

"Where?" Alex persisted. 

Evelyn looked to the clock in surprise. She'd lost track of the time; she hadn't realized how late it had gotten. "It's ten past nine, Alex. You know where she is." Evelyn also knew where Margaret was, and why. Margaret had told her all about her nightly "date" on the way home from Egypt.

"Oh." He looked shamefaced for a moment. But only for a moment. "In the garden. I'll go get her." He started for the door.

"No." His mother's voice stopped him before he had gone three steps. "Leave her alone, Alex."

Alex sighed, the sigh of an impatient boy who had just turned thirteen. "But I need her to help me with my French homework."

"And she will," Evelyn replied evenly. "But later."

Another impatient sigh. "But she sits outside every night. I don't understand what's so important."

Evelyn smiled a sad smile and settled back down with her book. "No, you don't. But perhaps someday you will."

***

Autumn was ending. Margaret could taste the beginning of winter in the night air. She shivered on the wrought-iron bench, her eyes closed, her mind hundreds upon hundreds of miles away. She thought about bright sun, humid afternoons, and burning sands. She thought about all the times that she had faced death, only to end up in the arms of a handsome tattooed desert warrior. The man who still had her heart.

She shivered again. The nights were definitely growing colder. She closed her eyes tighter, turning her face up to the night sky. She reached out with her mind, trying desperately to recall everything about him: his smile, his touch. The way his hair curled against his shoulders. The way his arms felt around her. As the months had passed, some of the smaller details had begun to slip away. She felt the loss of each one acutely. Would the day come when she would forget him completely? Tears came to her eyes at the thought and leaked out from behind her closed eyelids.

A huge shiver racked her body. Enough. She should go inside. But she didn't want to. She knew that it was crazy, but she felt close to him in these few minutes she spent outside every evening. But it was just so cold tonight. Tomorrow she would bring a warmer shawl…

Suddenly, she was warmer. A slight weight dropped onto her shoulders. She opened her eyes and looked down, her hands coming up to grasp the blanket that was suddenly around her. It was the throw from the sitting room. She turned slightly to look behind her.

"Jonathan." Since their shared near-death experience in Alexandria, they had become closer. He had taken it upon himself to look after her lately, and she always appreciated it. She pulled the throw a little more tightly around her. "Thank you."

"Oh, it's nothing," he said, waving off her thanks. "I knew you'd be out here, and it's starting to get cold, and…" His voice trailed off as he noticed the tears on her cheeks. "…and I'm completely disturbing you. I'm so sorry."

"No," she said, calling him back as he started to walk away. "Please, come and sit. I was just looking at the stars."

Jonathan sat down beside her on the small bench, tilting his head up to look at the overcast night. "So I see," he replied. They sat in a companionable silence for a couple of minutes, both looking up at stars that they could not see.

"Do you still miss him?" Jonathan finally asked quietly.

Margaret nodded. "Every second," she replied. 

Jonathan nodded too, still looking at the sky. "Yes, well. Not an easy one to forget," he said.

"I'm starting to, though," she replied. She looked down, studying her hands for a moment. "I told myself that I'd remember everything about him, but I'm not."

"Ah," Jonathan said, in the manner of a wise elder brother. "Starting to lose the details, eh?"

She looked at him, a little incredulous. "Yes, that's it exactly. How did you know?"

He shrugged. "Well, it's been what, about six months since we came home? That's when the details start to go." He smiled a little wryly, leaning over to nudge her shoulder with his. "Welcome to love, my dear. Your mind lets you forget the little things. If you didn't, your heart would stay broken forever, and that's no way to live."

"But I don't want to forget him," she said, tears starting to spring anew into her eyes.

Jonathan shook his head. "You won't." He thought for a moment, his eyes searching the sky as if he could find the right words there. "After a time you'll find that you don't think of him every day. And when you do, it won't hurt like it does now. You'll remember certain things from time to time, and you'll smile. Or you might be a little sad. But mostly, you'll just keep him in this special little room in your heart. You can look in there and remember, but you can also close the door and face the world again."

Margaret sighed, turning her face back up to the sky. "So this is what love is like?" she asked, her voice a little sardonic.

Jonathan chuckled and patted her hand. "Not always. Some affect you more than others. You just got a really good one your first time out."

She nodded. "That I did." She squeezed his hand. "Thanks."

"Of course."

A few seconds later, Margaret spoke again. "So do you have a little room in your heart, with someone in there?"

Jonathan nodded slowly, his eyes still turned to the sky. "Catherine Montgomery," he finally said quietly. "I was nineteen. Her hair smelled like lilacs."

Margaret glanced over at him, noting the melancholy look that had come over his face. She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. "It does get better, though?" she asked.

Jonathan nodded again, the melancholy look fading as he looked down at her, covering her hand with his. "It does. I promise you."

She sighed again. "All right," she said. She gave him a small smile. "As long as you promise." She laid her head on his shoulder, listening to his answering chuckle. The not-really brother and sister sat there for some time, stargazing on a cloudy night.

***

He hardly needed to look at the watch anymore. He could tell from the positions of the stars in the sky, from the sounds of the camp around him, when the watch would say nine o'clock. But he pulled it out anyway, unwrapping it from the grayish-purple scrap of silk. He clicked it open, as he had seen her do so many times before, and looked at the time it showed. Nine on the dot. He smiled, touching the watch's face with a fingertip. He closed his eyes and he thought of her. The way her skin felt under his hands, the sound of her voice, those bewitching gray eyes that seemed to change color according to her mood. He remembered the look of startled disbelief on her face when he'd come to her rescue at the museum reception. That blue silk gown…

He had lost the smell of her hair a week ago. That had been a hard loss to take. He loved her hair, and to lose the memory of its scent had been upsetting. But he still remembered the way it felt when he combed his fingers through it, and the way it felt brushing against his skin. So that was good.

He closed the watch, and wound it the way she had shown him. He had noticed early that the ticking was louder when it was freshly wound. The sound comforted him. He hadn't associated the sound of the watch with Margaret until she was gone, and the watch was all he had of her. But when he listened to the watch tick, he could remember the times he had seen her wear it, pinned to her blouse or on a chain around her neck. It had always been there, a soft background noise that had always been a part of who she was. He had simply never noticed it before. He pressed the watch to his heart for a few moments, lost in thought, before wrapping it again carefully and putting it away.

He knew the day would come when this would end. One day he would be wounded in battle, or he would fall ill. And the watch would wind down, and finally stop completely. Or it would become broken somehow, and he would lose this time every night. Years would pass, and he would forget more than the scent of her hair. Memories of her won't always pain his heart the way they did now. He won't always sit alone, looking out into the desert at the same time every night, thinking on a woman who left him a long time ago. He would probably take another lover.

But not yet.

The End. (One of them, anyway.)


	14. Ending #2-- The Happy Ending

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Even from her place in the sitting room, Evelyn could hear Alex pounding down the stairs. She kept her eyes on her book, hiding her smile as her son burst into the room.

"Mother, do you know where Aunt Meg is?"

Evelyn turned a page, still not looking up. "Alex, really. She's right in front of you. Are we going to have to get you glasses?" Her voice faltered as she looked up and realized that she was lying. The last time she had looked, Margaret had been in her usual armchair, here in the sitting room. Her knitting bag still sat beside the chair, with her current project on top, but Margaret was nowhere to be seen.

"Where?" Alex persisted. 

Evelyn looked to the clock in surprise. She'd lost track of the time; she hadn't realized how late it had gotten. "It's ten past nine, Alex. You know where she is." Evelyn also knew where Margaret was, and why. Margaret had told her all about her nightly "date" on the way home from Egypt.

"Oh." He looked shamefaced for a moment. But only for a moment. "In the garden. I'll go get her." He started for the door.

"No." His mother's voice stopped him before he had gone three steps. "Leave her alone, Alex."

Alex sighed, the sigh of an impatient boy who had just turned thirteen. "But I need her to help me with my French homework."

"And she will," Evelyn replied evenly. "But later."

Another impatient sigh. "But she sits outside every night. I don't understand what's so important."

Evelyn smiled a sad smile and settled back down with her book. "No, you don't. But perhaps someday you will."

***

Autumn was ending. Margaret could taste the beginning of winter in the night air. She shivered on the wrought-iron bench, her eyes closed, her mind hundreds upon hundreds of miles away. She thought about bright sun, humid afternoons, and burning sands. She thought about all the times that she had faced death, only to end up in the arms of a handsome tattooed desert warrior. The man who still had her heart.

She shivered again. The nights were definitely growing colder. She closed her eyes tighter, turning her face up to the night sky. She reached out with her mind, trying desperately to recall everything about him: his smile, his touch. The way his hair curled against his shoulders. The way his arms felt around her. As the months had passed, some of the smaller details had begun to slip away. She felt the loss of each one acutely. Would the day come when she would forget him completely? Tears came to her eyes at the thought and leaked out from behind her closed eyelids.

A huge shiver racked her body. Enough. She should go inside. But she didn't want to. She knew that it was crazy, but she felt close to him in these few minutes she spent outside every evening. But it was just so cold tonight. Tomorrow she would bring a warmer shawl…

Suddenly, she was warmer. A slight weight dropped onto her shoulders. She opened her eyes and looked down, her hands coming up to grasp the blanket that was suddenly around her. _Jonathan,_ she thought. Since their shared near-death experience in Alexandria, they had become closer. He had taken it upon himself to look after her lately, and she had always appreciated it.

But it wasn't a blanket. It was a cloak. A black cloak, richly embroidered in silver. Her hands froze, and for a few moments she stopped breathing. 

Before she could raise her head and turn around, she heard his voice behind her. "Of course you are cold in England. You come outside in just your shirtsleeves."

The sound of his voice spurred her into action. She leapt to her feet and whirled around, the cloak billowing around her. All she could do was stare at him, wondering if he was some kind of mirage, a hallucination created by her lovesick mind. Ardeth blended into the night, as usual, but she had been outside long enough that her eyes were well accustomed to the darkness. She could see him clearly: his hair curling to his shoulders that she remembered so well, his handsome face, his strong shoulders. All of the forgotten details, the tiny scraps of lost memories flew back into her head, so many and so fast that her mind was spinning. 

Time ticked by, and Margaret realized that she hadn't said a word. But neither had he. Since she had turned to face him, he had simply looked at her, his eyes drinking her in like a glass of water on a hot day. He did not move closer to her, and she stood as if frozen to the spot. They stared at each other silently, the small bench like a barrier between them.

She had to say something. Six months had passed since they had said goodbye in Alexandria, and every day away from him had broken her heart a little more. He had to know that. She had to tell him the desolation she felt, living without him. And how full her heart was now, now that he was standing there in front of her. She opened her mouth to tell him how happy she was to see him again…

"What are you doing here?" She closed her mouth firmly, hearing her teeth click together. Of all of the beautiful, heartfelt things she could have said, that really was not one of them. But Ardeth's lips twitched in a smile.

"Duty brings me here," he replied, and her eyes sagged closed for a moment at the sound of his voice. She had heard that voice in her dreams countless times, soft and deep and musical. Her heart leapt so wildly at hearing it that for a second she didn't even hear the words he said. But then she did, and her heart fell again.

"I see," she replied with a sigh. What had she been hoping for? She had been very firm about leaving him, was she expecting him to come halfway around the world to beg her to come back? What a silly notion. The Medjai did not beg, that she knew for certain. His first priority in his life was his duty to his people, of that she was well aware. It probably had to do with Hamunaptra; he probably needed Rick's help somehow. Blinking furiously at the tears that threatened to fill her eyes, she cleared her throat. "Of course," she said. "Rick is inside. I'm not sure where, but Evelyn's in the sitting room. If you'll come with me, I'll--"

"No." His voice stopped her in her tracks as she turned to go back to the house. She turned around again, and watched as he stepped around the bench to stand directly in front of her. "I do not need their help. Only yours."

"Mine?" Margaret asked, finding herself frozen to the spot again. She stared up into his face, captivated by his eyes. She had missed him so…

"Yes." He stood an arm's length away, but he did not reach for her. "As leader of the Medjai," he continued, "it is my duty to take a wife who will, hopefully, give me a son who will one day lead in my stead." He smiled then, a gentle smile that illuminated the hope in his face. "And it seems that it is you who still has my heart. I am here to ask to you to bring it with you back to Egypt, and allow me to keep you warm there for the rest of your days. By doing this, you will help me fulfill my duty to my people."

Margaret gasped at his words, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her mind continued to spin. Was it possible to feel so many emotions at one time? She was elated at his words, yet she felt the coldness of despair in her stomach. She swallowed the sob in her throat.

"Ardeth." She spoke his name calmly, quietly, as if they were discussing the weather. "You know I want nothing more than to live by your side." She shook her head. "But this cannot be. The reasons we parted are still there. Nothing has changed."

"Everything has changed," he persisted. "I have tasted life without you, and found it to be unbearable. You are my heart, and I cannot-- I will not-- live without you."

Margaret could no longer check the tears that began to drop from her eyes. "But your men," she protested weakly, trying to remember the reasons she had left him in the first place. None of them were springing to mind at the moment. "Your people. What about--"

"Hush." He did touch her then, pressing his fingers to her lips. The touch was electric to her, and she could see the same spark in Ardeth's eyes. "You are right," he said. "There may be trouble. But just the same, there may not be. You are not just any woman from the West. You are one who has lived most of her life in our native land. You know our language, and many of our customs. You have taught our children, who love you dearly." His small smile returned. "You will find that where a child's loyalty lies, so do his parents'."

Now that he had touched her, it seemed that he could not stop. His fingers traced her lips, swept the tears from her cheeks, and moved across her hairline as he continued to speak. "But none of that matters," he said. "I will risk the trouble. I would sooner face resentment, even banishment, with you at my side, than live a peaceful, quiet life without you, always wondering if I should have taken the risk." 

He moved closer to her, so that they were only a breath apart. She could feel the heat from his body, and could see that he was trembling just a little, although she couldn't tell if it was from emotion or from the cold. He had brought both hands up now, to frame her face, stroking down the sides of her cheeks.

"Please, Margaret," his voice was a whisper now, full of naked emotion. "Tell me you will come back with me."

Her heart was so full that she didn't know what to say. She didn't even know if she could speak. His mouth was inches from hers, and she stretched up on her toes to reach it.

"Yes," she whispered against his lips. "Of course I---" But his mouth claimed hers then, swallowing her answer before she had completely given it. His hands dropped from her face to wrap around her, crushing her to him. He kissed her so deeply, so thoroughly, that Margaret could no longer tell if her feet were on the ground. Her arms slipped out from underneath his cloak to cling to his sides. He was solid and reassuring under her hands as the world around her swirled in a dizzying spiral.

Eventually, he broke the kiss and pressed her even closer to him, his embrace so tight that she had trouble breathing. But she did not complain. For a few long moments they simply stood, holding each other, rejoicing in one another's touch.

After a time, she realized that he was still trembling. Putting a hand to the side of his face, she discovered that he was a little cold to the touch. She smiled; so she was not the only one so easily affected by England's weather.

"I told you England was cold," she said. He chuckled in response. 

"So you did."

"Why don't we go inside," she said, pulling out of his arms and taking his hands. "It's much warmer. And I know Rick and Evelyn will love to see you. We can--"

"No." He pulled at his cloak that she still wore, parting the fabric and drawing it around his shoulders so that it was wrapped around them both. His arms went around her waist, pulling her to him, warming his body with hers. "You will warm me," he said with a smile. "I cannot share your company with anyone. Not yet. For now, you are mine alone."

She wrapped her arms around him again, snuggling into him. "I am yours alone," she repeated. "Always."

***

Margaret didn't come downstairs for breakfast, so Evelyn decided to check on her. As she walked down the hall to Margaret's bedroom, she realized that she didn't remember Margaret coming inside from the garden last night. She must have stayed out there very late and overslept this morning. Evelyn hoped Margaret wouldn't catch cold; the nights were getting colder and colder, and she knew that Margaret would persist in sitting out there every night, remembering the man she'd left behind in Egypt.

Evelyn paused outside the door. If Margaret was sleeping in, it might not be a good idea to disturb her. Rather than knock, Evelyn eased the door open a crack and peeked inside.

Margaret wasn't sleep in her bed. In fact, the bed was neatly made. Evelyn swung the door wide and walked inside. The room was empty. Margaret wasn't there. The closet door stood open, and her carpetbag was missing, along with a few, but not all, of her dresses.

Evelyn was flabbergasted. Where had she gone? She sank down onto the bed, looking around in blank confusion, which was when she saw the note on the pillow. It was in Margaret's handwriting, and it was addressed to her and Rick. She picked it up, and underneath the note was a small drawstring bag, knit from black cotton. She looked from the bag to the note, deciding to read the note first.

__

Rick and Evelyn--

I am sorry to have left in the dead of night like this, but I know that you will understand, since you both thought I should have stayed in Egypt last time. It turns out that you were both right. 

Evelyn, I told you once that what had to be was more important than what I wanted. I couldn't have been more wrong, and he came halfway around the world to tell me so. It's not often that you get the chance to correct so grievous a mistake, so please understand the suddenness of my decision. Thank you for everything. 

Love,

Margaret

PS-- Evy, I give this to you now. Please give it to Hannah when she is older, and tell her it is from her Aunt Meg, whom she probably will not remember. I thought it should stay in the family.

Now Evelyn picked up the small bag and loosened the drawstring. Upending the bag over her hand, a small gold pocket watch landed in her palm. Margaret's watch, that she had given to Ardeth. It ticked loudly, as if it had been wound very recently.

  
Evelyn smiled, although tears welled up in her eyes. She would miss the woman she had come to think of as a sister, but she couldn't feel sad, for she knew that Margaret was now truly where she belonged.

The End. (One of them, anyway.)


End file.
